


Measure of surrender

by purplejabberwock



Series: Thy word is a lamp [2]
Category: Fate/Grand Order
Genre: Emiya | Archer - Freeform, Gen, Lancelot of the Lake | Saber - Freeform, Nursery Rhyme | Caster - Freeform, Romani is a lot of emotional constipation lbr, Tristan | Archer - Freeform, sort-of a fixit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-26
Updated: 2019-09-26
Packaged: 2020-10-19 12:07:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 26
Words: 68,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20656994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/purplejabberwock/pseuds/purplejabberwock
Summary: "All I wanted was a chance to live. Everyone has a right to a chance to live, don't they?"Another day, another Singularity. This time, it won't be a demon-god pillar waiting on the other end; and there's definitely something up with the out-of-order coffin Da Vinci's been hovering over ...Spoilers up to Shinjuku.





	1. Cover

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Makari Crow (Beanna)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beanna/gifts).

> Because even a heroic end is not always the correct resolution.
> 
> This is a series with Makari Crow (Beanna). Recommended reading order is her fic 'Raise a cup', followed by Measure, and ending with Makari's 'In the bitter snow', but Measure can be read independently and is still complete.


	2. Buying time on credit

He really, honestly, expected to wake up to nothing. Or to not wake up at all, as the case may be. There's certain implications about reducing one's self to  _ nothing _ , to erasing every aspect of oneself from humanity. And yet: Romani wakes up.

He wakes up groaning, pushing himself up from ground that isn't there when he opens his eyes. It's eerie, even beyond the eeriness of standing on ground that beats with the same rhythm as his magical circuits; different from a heartbeat, more of a resonance. He'd been able to feel it even reborn -- and once he'd cast aside that body, he'd been able to feel it even more. Did Goetia realise that the power Romani drew for his Noble Phantasm came, at least in part, from the remains of the self that had been stolen?

There's no such resonance here, in the ground that doesn't exist: but it's solid enough for him to sit up, and solid enough for him to look around, and still see absolute nothingness.

"Well," he says aloud just to hear something else, "it can't be  _ total _ nothing, because I'm sitting on  _ something_."

It is very, very eerie. So eerie. It's not even darkness. Darkness has some kind of weight. This -- he can see himself, sort-of, see brown hands and tattoos and the bands of lighter skin on his fingers where rings had once sat. The shadow of them, where light hadn't touched skin, carries no power for him now, except in memory and the phantom tingle of magic in his hands.

There has to be  _ something _ here. Romani gets to his feet and staggers, forgets how to walk with body taller, harder with harder living, and the weight of hair he'd never quite had to manage alone. When he lifts a hand as if to shade his eyes it's against darkness rather than light, and seems to help: at least as far as seeing, in the distance, a cyclical weave of light which looks dangerous in its beauty. And, too, he's aware suddenly of a pull somewhere between gravity and magic, and a whisper of ambiance which is more than just darkness: it's  _ malice_, and jealousy, and a desire for what isn't, a wish on a power that exists only here.

It feels like a Singularity, coalesced around the only power Romani knows which can grant wishes.

"Oh," he says. "Crap."

Now that he's seen it, it's definitely seen him -- he doesn't need the benefit of a giant flaming eye to tell that. There's awareness here, and while there isn't something  _ here _ , right where he's standing, there could be.

Judging by the shrieks resonant in the distance, there will be soon -- in which case he has to do something  _ fast_.

But he hasn't been a Master in thousands of years, and he doesn't have the benefit of Chaldea radioing coordinates. He didn't land somewhere he can tell surroundings, if surroundings even exist when someone doesn't. He glances desperately around and there's nothing, not even a convenient inhabitant or summoned Servant to appear at the right time.

"Damn it!"

Romani draws a quick breath and levels his hands ahead of him, facing the ground; and words flow from his mouth as if they'd never been forgotten, a stream of Ancient Hebrew to declare land and place and  _ being _ for the One who owns it anyway. Lines on his arms light up; even without the rings on his fingers they light up, and power surges through magic circuits which have always had something bolstering them. Words stumble but don't halt, and ground flares with gold light around him, first one square room and then another slamming into place like a dropped foundation as he enforces his will on this place.

It's been a long time since he'd created his own Territory.

The shrieks sound closer.

He has time. Probably.

He'll  _ make _ time.


	3. Data roaming

Today, the emergency doesn't begin with sirens blaring loud and red light casting shadows on the walls. Mash is glad for that. It's important, she knows, but every time the lights flash it throws her back to the day where explosions rang out and the lives of so many people were simply ended. Even knowing that Lev Lainur had been a demon-god all this time doesn't make her feel any better about it. He had seemed their friend. That had been real.

Today the emergency begins with Mash and Senpai presenting in the command-room for the usual updates, and instead finding Da Vinci leaned over one of the coffins with a furrow in her brow. "Hm."

"Da Vinci?" Mash asks, as Senpai cranes her head. It's the coffin that's been out of order since -- since the Temple of Time. There were a lot of things that had broken, in that fight, and though it seemed odd for just one coffin to be broken, Mash hadn't asked.

Da Vinci straightens up and gives them her usual smile, though it seems a little distracted today. That, really, could be anything. "Oh, there you are. Bit of a strange one this time."

"A strange what?" Senpai asks. "A Singularity?  _ Don't _ tell me it's another Singularity. Just once can't we visit the beach?"

"We have, Senpai," Mash reminds her, and Senpai makes a face Mash still isn't quite sure how to interpret. It could be 'don't ruin my punchline' or 'don't ruin my cravings with your logic' or 'oh yeah damn now my excuse is invalid'. Senpai has a lot of faces.

"To be honest, I'm not quite sure," said Da Vinci, and adds over her shoulder: " _ Yet _ ."

Senpai looks at Mash, but all Mash has for her is a shrug, and so they follow Da Vinci to the bank of computers. Mash can't help but glance back at the coffin. The 'out of order' sign is still on the controls, but there's something about it -- a hum, as if it's got power in it, though if it's broken that shouldn't be the case; and the window is covered, but she almost thinks it's a bit bright around the edges, like a flashlight covered.

Oh, well. More important things to worry about first. The screen Da Vinci shows them seems, at first, to be empty -- that is, perfectly normal. It's what they want to see. "We've been tracking some odd readings," Da Vinci explains. "They almost seem like a Spirit Origin, but they're intermittent. We managed to track it to a place in human history, sort-of."

"Sort-of?" Senpai echoes, looking worried and sceptical at once.

"It's moving," says Da Vinci, "or it was -- that's why we kept missing it. That, and it's ... well, almost invisible. Normal Singularities leave obvious distortions in their wake; they threw out a lot of energy, changing everything around them. Even the ones with the remnant demon-gods were like that. This one is the opposite. If the others are novae, this Singularity is a black hole. We can't get a good reading on it because anything we put in doesn't come out again."

"So we can't tell what kind of damage it's doing?" Senpai asks, and Da Vinci nods.

"We're tracking the impact it's having, as much as we can, and that's how we've managed to find its locations -- but since it's drawing things in, it's leaving fewer trackable ripples. The odd thing is that the only way we could have gotten readings from whatever's inside it is if they were actively trying to reach out."

"Do you think someone's calling for help?" Mash asks before she can stop herself. If someone is  _ asking _ for help, then -- well, they can't say no! She glances sideways and sees Senpai nodding firmly, echoing what Mash hasn't said.

"If someone needs help, we can't not go there," she says with all the confidence for which Mash envies and respects her.

"That's the problem," says Da Vinci. "If you go in, you won't come out until the Singularity is righted. You'll be able to hear our transmissions, but we won't be able to hear yours. The Singularity is sucking everything up, including things like that."

Senpai hesitated. "Well ... we can be careful. If someone is asking for our help then it means they know we're here, right? So they've got to have some kind of capability to send transmissions."

"That's a logical assumption," says Da Vinci, but she says it slowly, like she's breaking apart the constituent parts and not finding the machinery she expected underneath. Or maybe she's working from different machinery.

"Do you know something else?" Mash asks, watching her through her hair; and Da Vinci's smile is sudden.

"Of course I do, Mash. I am a genius, after all! There's a lot of things I know. But I'm not sure about making a big assumption like that when Ritsuka's life is going to depend on it."

Not Mash's. The tacit understanding, unspoken, still makes Mash want to hunch unhappily. It's not that she objects to remaining here to care for Senpai's life ... she'd just much rather do it by her side, and not from a distance.

"We've made worse," Senpai points out, and Mash nods after a brief hesitation. It's true; they have. She just doesn't like that it involves Senpai's life, when Mash can't be there to help. "You said it was moving. Where was it moving to? Where is it now?"

Da Vinci turns back to the keyboard to change what shows on the screen, an erratic line of dots showing a journey. "It's tough to show three-dimensional spacetime on a 2D screen, but okay. We're not sure where or when it began, but we have tracked it through numerous locations, as you can see. Some of them are sites of ordinary conflict; it spend some time in both the World Wars, for instance. Some others involve locations of the previous Singularities -- it was definitely at Fuyuki. Based on that I checked the locations of other known Holy Grail Wars, and sure enough, it's been loitering around those too."

"Isn't that kind of weird?" asks Senpai.

"Even the Incineration of Humanity Singularities didn't touch those periods," Mash says with a nod. "That seems like a bad thing, Senpai. They're important periods to the history of the Holy Grail Wars. Without them, the seminal point of the war in Fuyuki might not have happened."

They all spend a moment considering that, thinking about how things might have turned out. It's ironic, and appropriate, and  _ unfair _ , that the only reason Fuyuki had been a Singularity was because it's the moment King Solomon wished to become human. If he had remained as a Heroic Spirit, would they have had a chance against Goetia? Mash doesn't like to think about it.

It's still unfair, because it means the crux of history turned on Doctor Roman's lack of freedom.

"Where is it now?" Senpai asks finally, and Da Vinci glances at the screen.

"It's in the past," she says. "Not as far as Uruk, but still far enough that we'll have trouble confirming your existence. It might even be more difficult, without the inherent magic in the environment. This time period is that odd era as the Age of Gods was waning, but before the Age of Man truly began. It's a time when gods were still able to reach the human world through their worshippers and their faithful."

Senpai frowned. "You don't normally give us the lecture until we've found a leyline, Da Vinci."

"Just filling in, since I won't get that chance this time around," says Da Vinci brightly; but then she sobers, more quickly than usual. Mash thinks she might have sighed, if she was a sighing person. "Right now, the Singularity is resting in the 9th century BC, right about in the middle of it. Its potential encompasses a good half-century or so."

Mash frowns. That era sounds familiar ...

She turns to Senpai and Senpai has stilled, and there's an expression of such rawness on her face that Mash's heart pangs, and she unthinkingly reaches out to touch her arm. "Senpai ...?"

Senpai looks at her, but it's the kind of look that's seeing more than just what's in front of her. "That's about the period of King Solomon's reign," she says, very softly, and Mash's heart freezes, and her chest squeezes so tightly that for a second she can't breathe. Senpai reaches up to take her hand without removing it from her shoulder, and turns toward Da Vinci. "It is, isn't it?"

Da Vinci looks soft, and sad, the way she does when she thinks of the doctor. They'd been friends, Mash knows. They'd argued a lot, but the way geniuses argue. Against someone like Da Vinci, Doctor Roman hadn't seemed like much of a genius -- but he'd been able to keep up with her, nonetheless. "That's right. There's some dispute as to the exact timing, but the Singularity seems to be encompassing all of the period believed to be his."

Mash swallows hard, and peeks at Senpai; and Senpai looks at the screen, her face full of fierce determination. Senpai still believes Doctor Roman is alive, in some way. Sometimes Mash wonders if she's dreamed of Merlin too, but she's never dared to ask. Mostly, believing in Senpai's faith has been enough. "Is there reason to -- I mean." Mash fumbles on the question she hadn't intended to ask, and suddenly isn't sure whether she wants answered. As long as Senpai's faith isn't crushed, there's still a chance, right? "Um. Never mind."

Da vinci smiled at her and skipped past what Mash didn't say. "It's likely the Singularity has to do with the Temple of Time. It's different from all the others, and we still have ripples popping up. The main concern is the way it'll prevent communication."

"So we'll make our first goal finding whoever is sending the broadcast," says Senpai, and turns to Mash, squeezing her hand. "I really wish you could come with, but ..."

"I know, Senpai," Mash interrupts, before she has to say something out loud that will only hurt them both to hear. Even if it's the true. Mash musters a smile. "I'll be fine watching from this end, okay?"

"I wouldn't want anyone else keeping an eye on me," Senpai reassures her. It's a tiny, tiny, lie, because they both know there's only one other person she'd prefer, and he isn't here anymore. But, maybe --

... No. Mash doesn't want to air that wish. Not while it's still so small in her heart, and made of conversations wrought in dreamstuff.

Da Vinci gives them both a brilliant smile, the kind to hide sadness. "Let me know when you're ready. Don't wait too long, now."

"Lemme get my pack," Senpai says immediately, and takes Mash's hand off her shoulder before she turns and legs it out of the command room.

Mash watches her go and then turns to Da Vinci, her brow furrowed. "Um ..."

"Hm?" Da Vinci looked up from the keyboard as if she's still surprised to find Mash there. "Something wrong, Mash?"

Mash hesitates, glancing back toward the out-of-order coffin and biting her lip. The scent of incense has pervaded the command room lately, something which seems to match scrub and heat and gold and cedar, and anytime Mash thinks on it too deeply her heart skips a beat. Especially when she remembers what Merlin had told her, in her dreams. But: asking Da Vinci about it seems unfair, like going behind Merlin's back when he had  _ promised _ ; and so, in the end, Mash shakes her head.

"It's nothing. Never mind. I'll go help Senpai."

And she turns to run out of the room before Da Vinci can see that her eyes are wet.


	4. On solid ground

Most days Ritsuka tries not to think about how she's going to wind up on the other end of a leyshift. She's landed in all sorts of situations, and more than once  _ falling through the sky _ . That really, really is not fun. The problem this time is that she can't stop thinking about the 'won't be able to contact Chaldea' part. Not having Mash with her and not having someone nearby to shout suggestions in her ear are both super-duper bad things that make her heart ratchet as she climbs into the coffin.

Things that suck: anxiety that feels like her heart is a jackhammer and her limbs are vibrating because of adrenaline, and then it turns out  _ nothing happens _ . At least if she'd been falling through the sky she'd feel like the fright was justified.

Nope. Instead she hits the ground from maybe two inches higher than she anticipates, so that she stumbles and almost face-plants into a pile of trash, and only avoids not doing that by clutching a wall with something gross on it she doesn't want to look too closely at. She straightens up, making a face, and looks around for a place to wipe her hand before finally wiping it carefully off on a brick, and fishing in her pocket for the hand-sanitiser she'd started carrying around the time of the Second Singularity. Nowhere they've been seemed to have a grasp of proper hygiene, and that includes Shinjuku.

"Da Vinci? Mash?"

Nothing but silence. Not even static. The  _ least _ the Singularity could have done was give her some basic static. Ritsuka takes a deep breath and flexes her hand, and looks around.

Right. Street. Alley, to be more precise. The walls flanking are stone, an old kind of stone -- the sort from ruins. And when she leans over the refuse to eyeball what's in there, she seems a bunch of stuff which is mostly decomposable. Gross, but decomposable. Somehow plastic and metal is never as gross as organic stuff.

Definitely in the BC. Or early AD. Or somewhere before the Industrial Revolution. So, she has about two-thousand years' worth of wiggle-room.

Standing in an alley won't get her anywhere, but Ritsuka feels a pang of loneliness that someone isn't around to tell her that.

"Right," she mutters, and looks around again. Things seem darker than they should -- different than Shinjuku. In Shinjuku the darkness had been because it was always night. Here, even if there were a sun, it would still feel dark. Like a painting on black canvas, and the paint isn't thick enough to hide what it'd been painted on. The doorways, especially, seem really dark ...

It's not until Ritsuka peers closer that she realises this is at least partly because the lintels are painted with something dark and crusty which looks awfully, horribly, like dried blood. She shudders, backing away and setting off to the end of the alley, peering around the corners. Another street, just as empty, all doom and dark. There might have been movement at the far end, but she can't tell with the shadows.

The next street is the same, and so is the next. A lot of the doorways  _ and _ the windows have the painted lintels, but not all, and the further she goes, the fewer there are. It's kind of a relief; they still aren't exactly  _ clean _ , but it's better than thinking of -- some things in Uruk she's definitely not thinking about.

Eventually she finds someplace with some stairs on top of a roof for some height, and scrambles up to look around; but mostly all she can see is a haze of darkness and the shapes of a city. There's a couple of lights in the distance, far apart from each other: both seem equally golden. How's she meant to know what one to go for?

"Mash?"

No answer. She knew there wouldn't be, but it still makes her shiver. Ritsuka hops down off the roof, glancing around for someone to apologise to, but if there's anyone past the shutters closed over every window she can't tell.

"Eeny, meenie, miney, mo," she mutters, and picks a light, and heads for it. The streets get a little broader as she goes, and there might be people somewhere -- she can hear the whispering. It's just that, when she looks around, there's no one. It's eerie.

It's a relief when she hears the sound of footsteps and armour. Doesn't matter what kind of armour it is -- if it's standard issue, it still jingles, more if there's more metal in it, less if there's mostly leather. Leather has a kind of creak to it. They come around the end of the street Ritsuka is just leaving, and she stops and turns around with a smile, not trying to hide that she  _ is _ relieved. "Uh, hi."

The leader points a spear at her. "Death waits the trash on the street after curfew!"

Yep. So this is definitely a place that's going to want to kill her. Ritsuka holds up her hands as the soldiers fan out. It's not a wide street to fan out with, and she catches a couple of archers go up steps to get some height. "Sorry, sorry. I'm a foreigner, I didn't know. Look, I'm just after someone who can tell me what's going on."

The leader spits, actually spits, which is really gross but people seemed to do a lot before there was mouthwash. "The only fate for trash is death."

"At least Camelot had  _ looked _ pretty," Ritsuka complained, reaching for the carrier on her belt with her unmarked hand and spreading the other outward like it was at all a shield. The soldiers halt and cluster, eyeing her warily, so they're definitely familiar with mages. Ritsuka gives them a bright grin and mutters under her breath, " _ Alexander _ , please give me a hand here."

The tattoo on the back of her outstretched hand sparks and she jumps and yelps and snatches her hand back, cradling it to her chest. The whiff of burn smell makes her stomach turn, and she looks up at the soldiers regaining their confidence, and the flash of an arrow pointed at her.

_ Shit _ .

"Bye!" Ritsuka turns tail and runs, swallowing the sensation of her gut trying to rise to her throat. She hears the shouts and the sound of the soldiers following, and speeds up with her heart in her mouth and the taste of copper already on the back of her tongue.

Why hadn't it --

Da Vinci hadn't said anything about not being able to  _ summon _ !

_ Shitshitshitshitshitshit _

Ritsuka motors around the corner, hands slapping the far wall because she takes it so fast, and keeps running. She doesn't know this place and they do -- and they have archers, and she can hear the shouts moving around the surrounding streets, so they're probably going to try and force her into some kind of ambush where she winds up impaled on a few dozen arrows.

_ Oh, hell, no! _

She casts her gaze from side-to-side as she runs, searching for some kind of -- hole, or cellar, or  _ something _ to hide in. There's nothing she can see -- or rather, there's a dozen shadows she can't identify, and if she rushes into a shadow that isn't a hiding-place, she's dead.

Her lungs are burning, which is a really bad thing. Usually by now someone would be shouting suggestions over the comm, and Mash or Da Vinci would be scanning the surroundings for somewhere to hide, or --

Ritsuka's never felt so alone.

Then, as if the universe had heard the thought, there's a flash of movement in the shadows. Ritsuka's gaze snaps to it, and it's a hand beckoning -- an alarmingly ghostly-grey hand beckoning, but beggars can't be choosers and in this case Ritsuka will take 'not being impaled on arrows by guys who are really, really supportive of the death sentence'. She puts the brakes on  _ hard _ , sliding a good foot before she catches her balance and lunges into the gap indicated by the ghostly hand.

If there's stairs, she doesn't find them: she plunges headlong into darkness, curls in and hits on her shoulders, rolling and letting herself continue to roll until she hits a wall. And also something wet and gross.

"What did you do that for?" asks someone, sounding amused and a little disgusted at once. That bodes well for whatever she roll into. Ritsuka uncurls and opts for breathing over answering, pushing herself upright. "You're right. Never mind. This way!"

The hazy sort of light outside means Ritsuka's eyes don't need as much adjusting in the cellar as she thought; or maybe it's just the quality of the ghostly form that pulls down a strut until a stone falls in and wedges. It's a girl, or at least Ritsuka's pretty sure it's a girl, because there's a skirt and blouse, maybe; but any hair is covered by a hat shaped like a tulip's head. And she's absolutely lacking in colour, so that when she turns toward Ritsuka, all she sees is grey shapelessness where her face should be.

"Well?"

"Coming," Ritsuka says between huge lungfuls of breaths, and gets to her feet, slapping dampness off her legs. The end of the cellar goes down, and in the corner there's a few crates in front of a short squeeze of a passage. Ritsuka sucks in as much of her as she can and sidles into the hole after the phantom spirit. It's narrower than she thinks in places, but mostly even; but the air is musty and when they come out into the next area it's another cellar. "How many of these are there?"

"Not that many," says the girl, and she reaches into her bag and pulls out a flashlight, banging it against the heel of her palm until it works. The light it casts is as ghostly as she is, like a lantern turned modern. "But it'll get us out of the patrol's route. So, you're human, then?"

"Yeah," says Ritsuka, a little startled. Usually people lead with 'so you're the Master of Chaldea' these days. "And you're not. I've seen phantom spirits before."

"Great," says the girl, taking her toward another corner. "That means I don't need to explain." This tunnel is more roughly hewn, and it angles down at a rate that would be alarming to anyone who hadn't had to climb through some of the places Ritsuka had. Even so, she wrinkles her nose and breathes shallowly at the smell wafting up.

"We're heading into the sewer, aren't we?"

"Nice deduction," says the girl, sounding amused again. "Yes. People used to take cover down here, during the sacking of the city. Don't worry -- it's safe for people who need to breathe."

_ Which sackings, _ Ritsuka thinks, but doesn't ask. The air is getting pungent enough that she'd rather save her air, despite that reassurance.

Luckily it's not long before they drop into a tunnel which is much larger, with a tapering curve overhead. At least the ground isn't nearly as wet as Ritsuka feared -- there's liquid, but it's easy to step over; the air is heavy and close, and still a little pungent, but breathable.

"Where are we going?" she asks.

"A bit further up," says the phantom spirit. "We've got a wall up, sort-of. There isn't a lot of waste generated in this place anymore, unless you're like the soldiers and count people."

Right. The soldiers. Ritsuka puts her feet on autopilot and calls back to the soldiers. They'd been a weird mix of styles. Swords, bows and spears are pretty standard in general -- it's the armour and the style of weapon that makes a different. And that pack had made no real sense. One of them, she was pretty sure, had been Roman -- that is, the empire. She recognises the style of skirted armour from the Second Singularity.

"Those soldiers were weird," she says cautiously. "We're in Jerusalem, aren't we?"

"Sure we are," says the phantom spirit. "But we weren't before -- look, it's complicated. Let's just get to where we're going first. It's not far."

What Ritsuka had thought was shadow overwhelming the distance turns out to be a wall, and it doesn't match the rest of the tunnel: this is newly built, made of stacked stone and buttressed by timber, with a hole where water can filter through. The phantom spirit hops down into the gutter and Ritsuka grimaces as she follows, ducking under the shelf of stone. There's a rhythmic flash of light, like a signal, and somewhere up ahead Ritsuka hears someone say, "Pull back the grate."

There's an almighty scrape of metal which echoes in the tunnel. Ritsuka claps her hands over her ears, feeling the grind of it all the way into her teeth until it ends a billion years later.

"Ow," she manages.

"Oh, right," says the phantom spirit. "Sorry about that."

"Hey, protection first, yeah? Just. A little warning next time." Ritsuka grimaces, rubbing her ear, and follows the spirit in past the grate overhead, and into the shallow trough leading upwards into what she hopes is a place of safety.


	5. Phantom faces at the windows

The trough leads straight through, as far as Ritsuka can see, but a hand comes down before she can see how far. Since she's never turned down a helping hand, Ritsuka grips it and is pulled easily upward past the lip of the gutter. The hand is grey and ghostly, another phantom spirit -- but it  _ feels _ solid, and firm, and callused; and unexpectedly when Ritsuka looks into the face belonging to the hand, it's another girl with indistinguishable features.

"Thanks," she says.

"No worries," says the girl, in an accent which fluctuates between all the places in England Ritsuka's never been. "So you're human, huh?"

"So I've been told." Ritsuka glances around. It's a bit larger here, a little more hollowed-out with air a lot more breathable; but the gutter still vanishes into the far darkness, and the space is filled with people. In the darkness mostly Ritsuka gets the impression of a seething mass of humanity murmuring, coughing, wheezing, crying, laughing -- quietly. At the wall there are very definitely guards, all turned outward and peering through nooks in the wall. "Is this a refugee camp?"

"If you want to call it that," says the girl, and nods to the first phantom spirit. "Guess your deduction was right, Nancy."

"Of course it was," says Nancy, scrambling up out of the trough, one hand keeping her hat on her head. She puts her hand out and Ritsuka shakes it, trying not to stare too much. "Nancy Drew."

"My pleasure," says Ritsuka, grinning. It always is. "I'm  _ so _ glad I got to meet you this time -- it sucked a little that all Shakespeare and Anderson could come up with were a bunch of old men."

Nancy stares, and even though she doesn't really have a face it's a look stuck between bafflement and calculation. "A bunch of old men? You've met the other detectives, then?"

"Yeah. Only four of them manifested, but the rest were around helping where I couldn't see them."

"How long ago was this?"

Misgiving sinks cold into Ritsuka's gut. "A few months ago."

"Hate to tell you," says Nancy, "but I probably wasn't there, then. Seriously? All you got to see was a bunch of old farts?" She shakes her head. "What else can I expect? That's what this place  _ is _ ."

"You said it wasn't Jerusalem."

"Well, it is," says the other, unnamed phantom spirit, and now Ritsuka looks at her properly she seems to be wearing a uniform, the sort that military women had to wear before governments realised that was stupid. The spirit waggles her fingers. "Hi. I'm a Wren."

"A -- what?"

"A Wren," says the girl. "A member of the Women's Royal Navy Service -- W-R-N-S, Wrens, see? Begun in World War 1, revitalised for World War 2."

"You  _ definitely _ shouldn't be in Jerusalem in the ninth century BC, then."

"Come on," says Nancy, taking her hand and tugging it, and Ritsuka doesn't resist being led. Wren follows, hand on her hip and a gun that Ritsuka only sees when she cranes her head back. "We've got some food, I think -- maybe. Probably. Did you bring any food?"

"I have some. I was kind of relying on there being some here if I'm sticking around long-term."

"Well, that's stupid," Nancy tells her. "Couldn't you tell from the outside that this place sucks people in and doesn't let them out again?"

"Yeah, we could. That's why I brought  _ some _ . I couldn't bring a whole kitchen."

"Fair," Nancy concludes. They move along the wall, skirting people on the floor. Ritsuka glances around, and there's some flashes of colour -- dulled, washed-out, but definitely colour. Phantom spirits don't have any colour at all.

"How many of these people are phantom spirits?"

"Some," says Wren. "Some aren't."

"Are either of you going to explain  _ anything _ ?"

"Wait a mo." Nancy lets go of her hand to move aside a flat piece of board, and one by one they squeeze in through the gap into something that isn't a room but is maybe more private than talking out with the huddled masses. Nancy sits down and pulls up her knees as the Wren follows them in last. "Okay. Now we can talk."

The floor seems mostly clean this time, and when Ritsuka looks around she catches a few crates and sacks of what she really hopes is food she can eat without too much preparation. She opts to sit on one of those, resting her elbows on her knees. "Okay. You said this isn't Jerusalem?"

"It is," says Nancy, "but it isn't. This place has been around before it had form. Before, it was all darkness and half-solid and misery. Us phantom spirits were around, and so where a bunch of other souls. That's what the refugees are."

Ritsuka frowns. "They're just -- souls? I thought when people die they're supposed to return to the Root. Or that's what the Mage's Association says, anyway."

"They're supposed to," Nancy agrees, "but these didn't. Most likely, they were stopped on their way there, and gathered up in this place instead. Most of them are souls who didn't have guidance -- people no one cared about, people who have been forgotten. That's why we ended up here too." She motions at herself. "All the faceless heroes of humanity, the ones without enough power to become Heroic Spirits. There's a lot of women throughout history who have done just as much as the men, but the men have gotten the credit. So, the women get pulled in here first. That's why I probably wasn't wherever you saw the other detectives. Kind of proved my point nicely, didn't they?"

Ritsuka looks back through the tunnel, her heart constricting. "So all the refugees are  _ actually _ refugees."

"Probably. No one thinks of the refugees. There's a bunch of Wrens here, a few others like them -- women corps, women cops, women fire-fighters. Some men, too. Some who aren't either."

Ritsuka has to sit in silence for a few moments, watching the movement of people outside the tunnel. They'd been the only ones up and walking around. Most others out there were people, were alive, sort-of, but -- stagnant. Hopeless. Finally she asks, "What is this place, exactly? From the outside it reads like a Singularity -- a place in space and time that's being warped. But this one reads like a black hole. Normally they seem more like novae."

"It's a place the forgotten are drawn," says Nancy, and Ritsuka's heart does a running back-flip off the wall of her ribs. "There's not often a way to come back from being forgotten."

"And when the city started taking shape?"

"Someone arrived here," answers Nancy, looking at Ritsuka with intent in the hollows where eyes should be. "The human before you. There's a lot of  _ souls _ here, but the two of you are probably the only real living humans here. The city formed around him."

_ Him _ . Ritsuka's heart rebounds again. "Do you know his name?"

Both of them shake their heads. "We've never even seen him," explains Wren, "but he knows we're here. Most of the pilots have gathered where he is, and sometimes they fly over the wall and drop packages, or information -- troop movements, or suggestions for magical defences."

Magical defences. Something pings in Ritsuka's head, but unhelpfully doesn't tell her what for, except that her brain made a connection somewhere back in the dusty recesses.

"And he has a Servant," Nancy adds. "I've met her too. She just calls him 'Daddy', which isn't all that helpful. The only fathers here are the ones who failed their children. It's that sort of place."

Has a Servant. Now Ritsuka's heart is just pounding, which at least is a more consistent rhythm than gymnastics. "Where is he now? What wall? Can I meet this Servant? How can he summon a Servant? I couldn't."

Nancy checks the answers off on her fingers, tapping her index finger first. "Over on the other hill. Remember how in the city there's two lights?"

"Yeah. I picked one and went for it."

"One's the Temple Mount, where the palace is," says Nancy. "That's where the bad guy lives. The other temple formed on another hill in another part of the city, and I don't think it's  _ meant  _ to be there, but that's where the city grew from. Its layout is kind of being controlled by both of them -- the other Master is trying to keep the souls safe, and the king is trying to control them."

"Okay." Ritsuka nods energetically, her knee bouncy with nervous energy. King and Master, and they're in Jerusalem. This is fine. This is fine. "That's what you mean by the wall? Is that the wall we came through?"

"Not really." Nancy wrinkles her nose. "We built that ourselves. It's hard trying to get people to safety, because so much of the city is controlled by the king. Underground is as safe as we can get without being able to get to the temple."

"The more territory he controls," says Wren, "the harder it is to keep it safe. So he controls less territory than the king, but it's safe, and when he can he sends out the phantom spirits from the temple, or his Servant, to lend us a hand. We've been talking." She makes a motion around, as if the small room is full of people. "All of us out here, I mean, the ones who are defending the refugees. He has some kind of  _ plan _ , I think, because he told us to be mindful of Passover --"

"Passover?" Ritsuka repeats before she can stop herself. It's a Jewish thing, she knows; but that's about it. It still makes her heart pound a little. She's spent a lot of time getting inured to religion. Somehow the thought of someone she might know adhering to those kinds of things ... She'd never really asked the Servants at Chaldea whether they still observe anything strictly. For Jeanne and Georgios, it's just kind of ... the way they are.

"It's some kind of holy ritual," Nancy explains. "You might have noticed the gruesome decoration on all the doors?" Ritsuka wrinkles her nose, and Nancy grins. "Most of us don't know anything about it, but when the message came down the Caracal Battalion insisted we follow those instructions to the letter. So we did."

"Those protections haven't figured in yet," says the Wren, "so he has some kind of plan, but we don't think he actually has a way to win the deadlock."

"We figured he's been waiting here for someone," says Nancy, and now even though she has no eyes the way she looks at Ritsuka seems intent. "That's why I was keeping watch for someone new. That's you."

Ritsuka has to get up. She can't straighten all the way, but she walks around a bit, all hunched over, squeezing and loosening her fists and stamping her feet until some of the adrenaline as faded. Then she sits down again, and says more calmly, "I want to meet his Servant. And I want to know how he summoned when I couldn't."

"It's obvious, isn't it?" Nancy asks, tone full of tolerant exasperation. "You said it's a black hole."

... She had said that. A black hole that sucks everything in, and nothing gets out. They hadn't thought it would apply to Servants too, but maybe they should have. Except ...

Ritsuka frowns. "If this is a place where only the forgotten can come," she says slowly, "well. I mean, I'm here so ..."

"Yes, but you forced your way in," Nancy reminds her. "And you're human. You let yourself get pulled in, and even though you're alive, it doesn't mean you're properly remembered. But Servants are Heroic Spirits. The very nature of them means they can't  _ be _ forgotten."

"But D -- this other Master has a Servant," says Ritsuka, and the veil she'd been trying to punch through finally lifts, and she brightens. "He summoned a Servant who remembers the forgotten. It's a girl, isn't it -- dirty-blonde, uses knives, assassin-class, about this tall ...?" She holds out her hand.

"That's her," says Nancy with a nod. "She calls herself Maria. Or she said that's what her Master calls her, anyway."

"So she's not the Jack I know, then," Ritsuka muses. "He must be using the name difference to keep them separate. Maybe he wasn't able to summon Chaldea's Jack. Anyway." She shakes her head. "I know who you mean, and in that case, I'm pretty sure I can give it a go. Not Jack -- if a version of her is already here that's just bound to be trouble."

Also, somethingsomething realities would fall apart and whatever. It's the same reason why Cu Chulainn couldn't be both Caster and Lancer at once, unless Setanta takes the Lancer slot.

"How many options does that leave you?" Wren asks, rubbing absently at her skirt. "I mean, I guess that means you can't bring along an army or anything, right?"

"No," Ritsuka admits, and flexes her hand. Her skin around the command seals feels a bit tight, but when she touches it, it doesn't hurt, so probably she's not badly burned. It'd been a warning singe. "But there's a Servant, Nursery Rhyme, who's a representation of a bunch of stories and fables. Everyone knows them, so no one knows who they're really about, see? In the case of nursery rhymes, the more people know them the more the originators are forgotten. I'm pretty sure I could summon her."

"Class?" Wren asks.

"Caster."

"She might do," Wren mutters. "I can tell Colonel Kudasheva."

Ritsuka frowns. "Do for what?"

"Support," says the Wren vaguely. "There's a war going on in these streets, and the other Master can't spare a whole lot of guards, but the king has all the phantasmals he could want at his disposal -- and a few demons too. We've only managed because now this place has shape, we can actually build fortifications and everything. Before, mostly all we could do was sit around and wait for the wolves to come."

"If you tell Kudasheva that a new Master is here she'll have her co-opted," Nancy warns.

"So? We need all the help we can get."

"So this isn't the kind of war that can be won like that," says Nancy. "This is a mystery -- a kidnapping. A frontal assault doesn't do anything when there's mysteries to be solved, it just makes the culprit dig in. The Master knows something about this place, otherwise why would it build itself around him? We need to get her to the temple as soon as we can."

Wren frowns. "That's putting a lot of faith in the Master's desire to help."

"You're the one who said he's right to keep his territory small. And he  _ has _ been trying, as much as he can. I think he's just as trapped as we are. I think he's been waiting for someone to come and help." Nancy turns toward Ritsuka. "And I think you know who he is, you just don't want to say it yet, in case you're wrong."

Ritsuka hesitates, and then nods. "And I don't think it's a good thing to say his name around here, at least not until I'm somewhere protected. Just in case." King, and Master. Master and king. Unbidden, Ritsuka thinks of Goetia, and swallows hard. She really hopes it's not a situation like that again. "And I think Nancy's right. I need to talk to him as soon as possible. If he's been here a while, he's probably got ideas, and once we've coordinated then maybe we'll be able to help you a little better."

Wren is silent for a minute, and then finally nods. "Fine. I'm still going to tell the colonel and Mulan you're here, though. They're the ones coordinating most of our defenses."

_ Mulan! _ For a moment Ritsuka is tempted to change her mind, but Wren is already getting up and dusting herself off, and squeezing through the gap; and so she says nothing.

Nancy gets to her feet, pointing at the crates. "Those should be food. Feel free to go through them for anything you can eat now, and get some sleep if you can. I need to go and check on some of our other tunnels -- there's a route we've been putting together to try and get some other refugees to safety."

"Got it." Ritsuka watches her move to the opening, and then remembers -- "Wait, I have one more question. The person who's behind the Singularity -- do you know who they are, or why they're gathering souls?"

Nancy turns, and framed in the gap of sort-of light from the great tunnel, she looks almost translucent, like mist which isn't quite solid enough to be seen in a photograph. "I don't know who they are  _ yet _ ," she answers firmly, "and mostly they just seem to want to keep the souls close. So, I don't have a name -- but my theory is that the person behind it is as forgotten and lonely as the rest of us, and taking it out on everyone else who is."

"That would figure," Ritsuka mutters, and Nancy face stretches in a way that indicates an unseen grin; and then she ducks under stone and is gone.


	6. A good defence

As suggested, while she waits Ritsuka rifles through the crates and sacks. Most of the sacks are some kind of grain or meal, and wholly unappetising. In the crates are some kind of cheese and some wrapped bread which doesn't smell fresh when she breaks the crust, but isn't mouldy or stale that she can see -- just a little grey, like everything here is grey. She has again the thought that this places seems like it's paused in time, in which case it doesn't matter how long the food's been here -- it should still be okay to eat.

She hopes.

The cheese turns out to be goat's cheese, which is better than some other options. Ritsuka had never had what she thought was a wide palate, until she came to Chaldea. These days she can eat almost anything. Almost. At least it's food and she doesn't have to worry about using up some of her own.

But then there's nothing to do. She can't talk to Mash or Da Vinci, though she tries a few times, calling into the silence and darkness, and getting no answer. It's very lonely and she hates it, hates the feeling of low-grade excitement that makes her gut turn over anytime she thinks about this mysterious other Master for more than two seconds.

It's got to be Doctor Roman. It's  _ got _ to be him, right? The father of magecraft would have to know how to summon Heroic Spirits.

But: Nancy had definitely said human. And Doctor Roman had given up his reborn body to go back to being Solomon, to go back to being a Heroic Spirit, and then he'd erased himself from the Throne of Heroes.

Who had ever erased themselves from the Throne of Heroes before? Ritsuka hadn't found any records on it. Maybe being 'erased' just means 'becoming human' again. After all, no one still living can be in the Throne of Heroes. Merlin is a special case. Maybe it was one of those word-tricks. What Doctor Roman had done definitely counted as heroic, so the only way he couldn't be in the Throne is if he  _ is _ alive again, and --

And she's giving herself a headache, and she's way too antsy to rest now, even if it would be useful. She knows the value of it, after all this time, resting when she can -- but she still finds it hard, when her body wants to move.

Instead Ritsuka sorts through her Servants, frowning and trying to figure out who else she might be able to summon in this lonely place. Nursery Rhyme, almost certainly. The Hassans -- touch and go. They're meant to be anonymous, but she knows who they are; are they forgotten if people still remember the impact they had, even if no names are known? It's a question she might have to answer. Kojirou, too, might be a possibility; no one knows who he really is, and he'd presented her with a shrug when she asked about details of his past life, just like no one really knows who had invented the sword forms he uses. Emiya's probably a decent candidate too. He's pretty much made to be nameless.

Hessian Lobo,  _ maybe _ \-- who ever cared about wolves, on the whole, in the world? Let alone a specific one? Still ... he'd been named, and remembered in half-there myths. Technically a phantom spirit. Maybe he'll count.

Did the Alters count? They who never were, or were people out of fantasy; the might-have-beens, the there-but-for-the-grace-of-gods. Jeanne had been made of Gilles's grief, Artoria by the corruption of Fuyuki ...

Something in Ritsuka's chest clenches at the reminder of Fuyuki, of the knowledge that that place was where the Incineration had, in its own way, begun. If Doctor Roman had remained a Heroic Spirit, would the demon-god pillars have been forever put off? Was it the act of his wishing to be human which had pinpointed the Incineration of Humanity for  _ then _ ? Had that been the final war, because of who had been summoned in it?

It all seems so unfair. He'd never really had a life, and the two choices he'd made, to become human and then cast it aside -- he hadn't even made them for himself.

Something rustles by the opening and Ritsuka wipes her burning eyes and sniffs, and lifts her head to see who's returning. It's neither Wren nor Nancy, but someone new -- it looks like a modern military uniform, with a beret, but like all the others the spirit has no face. Ritsuka waggles her fingers. "Hi."

The spirit salutes. "Come with me."

Definitely a female-leaning voice. Ritsuka ought to be able to expect that, from what Nancy said. "Sure," says Ritsuka. "Just two questions -- who are you, and where are we going?"

"I'm a Caracal," answers the spirit. "We're going above-ground."

"Caracal?" Nancy had mentioned them before, but hadn't explain it.

"Israeli Defence Battalion." The spirit looks at her expectantly and Ritsuka gets to her feet, stretching her limbs, to follow.

"Why're we going above-ground?"

"You want to get to the Master's temple, right?"

"Yep." Ritsuka nods and follows with a little more speed, and they squeeze through the gap into the tunnel proper. The Caracal turns down the opposite way from which Ritsuka had entered, moving past -- or maybe  _ through _ ? -- the refugees clustered around the floor. Ritsuka hesitates for a moment and then skirts them to pick her way along the edge of the trough. Even if they are only phantom spirits, or disembodied souls, it seems -- rude to just walk through them. Maybe the other phantom spirits are allowed, or something, but Ritsuka is pretty sure she isn't.

"Nancy made it sound like there was a tunnel all the way there," Ritsuka says when she and the Caracal draw a little closer, though Ritsuka's path is wobbly, owing to the dodging of people.

"No," says the Caracal. "A ways still. You'll need to cross the wall -- or go through it. You can't do that from below. Not anymore."

"The king blocked it, did he?"

"Yep."

She's taciturn. Then again, she's modern. Maybe this place feels weird. Or maybe this close sits too close to home. Ritsuka itches with curiosity for a bit, and then asks: "Were you from here? Jerusalem, I mean?"

The Caracal looks back, and the hollows where her eyes should be are shadowed. "All Israelis come from Jerusalem one way or another."

"Gotcha." It was probably a stupid question to begin with. Phantom spirits aren't always  _ people _ , and Caracal and Wren -- they'd introduced themselves as members of the forgotten masses, memories only in the title of the groups in which they'd fought. Of course the Caracal would answer yes. Jerusalem is part of the lifeblood of their nation. Or ... was. Ritsuka's knowledge of history between ninth-century BC and two-thousand AD is a bit sketchy. All she really knows of Israel now is the war with Palestine.

Sometimes she wonders if Servants ever feel like they're going to buckle under the weight of all the history they didn't live, and the ways their homes have changed after their deaths.

The tunnel doesn't end, but after a while Caracal leads Ritsuka off it, to a place where steep narrow stairs ascend into shadow. Ritsuka hops carefully between people on the ground and glances down the tunnel. The crowd of humanity continues all the way into darkness. It's ... sad. It's like they're already lost.

_ Not if I have anything to say about it, _ she vows. Not if Doctor Roman does either, she bets. It is him. It has to be him.

The street they come out on looks like all the other streets Ritsuka has walked through so far, except that the ground shakes just as Ritsuka pulls herself upright.

"Um ... is Jerusalem prone to earthquakes?"

Caracal doesn't answer. There's shouts from another street over, and running footsteps, and someone bursts out of a nearby -- blood-decorated -- door and rushes in the direction of the noise. Caracal follows, and Ritsuka follows  _ her _ , without much in the way of hesitation.

"Agnodice! What's occurring?!"

"The king's attacking the barricades," answers the new phantom spirit, and her clothes look Greek, but not like Euryale's: this is less like a dress and more like a toga, something Ritsuka thinks a man would wear. Her voice seems to be feminine, but made low, either on purpose or because of the mechanics of the phantom spirits' existences. "There are wounded. Mulan is holding off the attack."

Best way to meet an idol or two, Ritsuka thinks. In the middle of a life-or-death situation. Yep.

Agnodice glances back. "If you wish to avoid battle, this isn't the direction to follow."

"I'm not leaving you all to defend the barricades alone if I can do anything to help," says Ritsuka at once, and stubbornly. Hey, no one's on the line to tell her she's being stupid, so she's going to do it. These people need defending, and anyway, throwing her lot in with them is usually the best way to make friends, she's found. Agnodice's eyes crinkle and she doesn't object, and the Caracal is pulling away ahead, so Ritsuka figures she's not going to get into trouble on that front.

Agnodice goes on the street below, but Ritsuka sees the way the street is laid-out to take advantage of the stairs up onto the roofs of the surrounding houses, and darts up one of those. There's archers up here -- she's pretty sure those guns are  _ not _ standard ninth-century BC issue.

"If you're not in the battle, take cover," one of them warns her, and she doesn't see who except that she's pretty sure those aren't modern Israeli defence uniforms. Oh, well. All in.

"I'm here to help," Ritsuka tells her -- him? Hard to tell -- and peers over the edge of the roof just enough to be able to see what's happening. The barricade takes advantage of an intersection and the broadness of a boulevard, using it as an encampment while blocking off access to two sides: but both those sides are being assaulted now, and one of them looks to have been driven back by the forces of the king, in as varied a bunch of uniforms as this one except they seem mostly men. That's probably the barricade that needs the help, then. Easy-peasy.

Ritsuka aims her hand in that direction, shoving power into the command seals with more obstinacy than finesse, and using a longer, more specific incantation than she had for Alexander. She's gotten a bit lazy, with how many Servants she knows, how many she's summoned. "Nursery Rhyme, we need to teach an object lesson, please!"

Her hand tingles and the power that rushes through her and down the limb is half magic and half adrenaline, and enough to make her hand vibrate; but she holds it steady with her other arm and squints, like there's a crosshairs mounted on her knuckles. The command seals glow suddenly full of rainbows, and out of nowhere, like the parting of a curtain, a book is thrown through midair. The battle doesn't notice it immediately; and then the book opens with a blast of ice and they  _ definitely _ notice it after that, that and the girlish giggle that follows.

Attention splits between rebels and book, with book darting this way and that overhead. It's weird that Alice isn't showing, but maybe that makes sense -- Alice is a specific name. Maybe she can't, here; it doesn't seem to dampen the book's attacks any.

Ritsuka can feel the throb in her hand that is power channeled, and the little spark that indicates the command seals are ready for a second and a third, on the field if not allayed: and Ritsuka stretches out her hand again, wracking her brain. Kojirou, Emiya -- this isn't their territory, so --

" _ Hassan _ , nameless assassins, cover the other side."

This -- feels weird; it feels like a shadow rushing over her and a punch somewhere in her heart, half-missed: but down on the ground a shadow parts and the bone-white skull flashes, and one of the enemies fall with a dagger in his kidneys. Ritsuka presses a hand to her chest, grimacing; her heart feels thunderous in her chest as well as her ears, and that's maybe not a good thing.

And the command seals seem, all of a sudden, too full to summon anyone else. Ow. Ow, ow. She only hopes it hadn't hurt the Hassan, whoever it was, to be summoned. Or maybe it's all of them, sort-of. Or maybe it's construct of them all. She doesn't know: but the conduit between her and Chaldea is full for now, and there are darting knives and flashing skulls below, so shes summoned  _ someone _ , even if it's just the nebulous shadows behind the name 'Hassan'.

There's a shout from below and Ritsuka catches a glimpse of Chinese armour and a long sword pointing, and then the forces for the rebels rush, retaking ground they had lost before Ritsuka's distraction.

"Hey!"

Ritsuka turns and it's Nancy leaping over a pile of ammo boxes, almost colliding with Ritsuka except that, suddenly, there's a book waving its pages threateningly at her. Nancy stops short and catches herself on one of the Caracal instead, holding up her hands.

"It's fine, Nursery Rhyme, she's a friend," Ritsuka says quickly, and the book closes, tipping forward on a diagonal in a fashion which might be a dog sniffing, with how the edge of one spine angles toward Nancy.

"Great," says Nancy distractedly, and reaches for Ritsuka's hand. "Come on, we need to go."

"Why?"

"This is your best chance to get close to the Master's temple. We need to go down that street."

Nancy points to the one down which Mulan's just led a bunch of their forces, pushing the king's soldiers past the intersection.

"Oh, goody," says Ritsuka, and follows when Nancy tugs, holding out her arm so Nursery Rhyme can tuck herself into the crook of Ritsuka's elbow.

"You had to summon the Asāsiyyūn?" Nancy demands as she pulls Ritsuka so fast down the steps that Ritsuka almost falls.

"At least you got the name right," Ritsuka says inanely, stumbling on the last step and righting herself mostly owing to the fact that Nancy is still dragging her. "You should hear them grumbling about linguistic morphing --"

"What made you think they were a good idea?"

"Well, they belong here, don't they? Islam is an Abrahamic religion just like Judaism."

Nancy doesn't answer this right away, owing to the necessity of navigating the campsite from behind. It's not hard, it's their territory; but soldiers and medics are rushing this way and that, and they have to leap over various pieces of gear before they get to a doorway on the corner of the interaction, just behind the barricade. Nancy turns to Ritsuka and looks at her thoughtfully.

"That's true, I guess," Nancy said finally. "I wasn't thinking in those terms, but if this is Jerusalem, they'd have as much right to be here as anyone else, right now. It's just that I'd have figured they'd be the sort on the king's side, not ours."

"Just because they're assassins doesn't make them evil," says Ritsuka, and stops. "Well, I guess it kind of does, depending on your definition, but I saw the Knight of the Round Table turn into the most viciously obstinate and twisted people in a Crusade that never happened, so --"

"Tell me later," Nancy interrupts, looking up at the height of the barricade as there's a flash of sunlight off a mirror. She kicks down a portion of the barricade to duck her head and squeeze through, with Ritsuka right behind her. They run down the length of the street, getting close to the fighting, and Ritsuka twists her hand in Nancy's to break her grip so she has both hands to work with.

"A bunch of them are setting up shop in the alley!" Nancy calls back.

"No problem!" Ritsuka pulls Nursery Rhyme into her arms and darts in front of Nancy, opening the book like it's resting on a desk. In a blast of ice and light the soldiers in the alley fall back, and Ritsuka feels the cold touch of shadow rushing past her, and the thud of knives striking vital points.

"More useful than a flashlight," says Nancy, and then she adds, "but only in this situation. Come on -- as long as they're fighting, they're paying less attention to the place we're headed."

Ritsuka is a bit delayed following her, because she's looking at the Hassan; but all she sees is black cloak and skull face, and no defining features to tell her which one it is, if any. More and more it looks like it's some kind of amalgamation.

"Come on!" Nancy tags Ritsuka's sleeve and she tears her gaze from the assassin-shadow rushing soldiers from behind, and runs after down the alley.


	7. The Pool of Siloam

"Where  _ are _ we going?" Ritsuka asks when they're far enough from the fighting that the noises are dull and there's no immediate risk of running into the king's soldiers coming around the corner.

"The Pool of Siloam," says Nancy. "It's a holy spring with a path leading down from the Temple Mount, but these days it's geographically closer to the Master's temple, outside the Old City. There's meant to be a temple there, too, on the Temple Mount -- that's the light you can see when it's dark."

"It's dark now."

"Right. So you can see both places. It's weird, because the Temple Mount is where the true temple is meant to be, but the Master's temple feels --" Nancy shakes her head. "I don't know. It  _ feels _ realer. I don't think it's because the Master is human, either. Not everything humans make is real, even if they're true. Anyway, the Master is using the Pool of Siloam as a source of power and nourishment."

"You know all this, and you don't know who the Master is?"

"It's easy to observe factual changes in the environment," Nancy answers, a little brittle. "It's harder to divine something being kept secret, especially when you can't see where the secret is. You  _ do _ know who he is? You're sure it's safe to talk to him?"

Ritsuka thinks of a gentle smile and green eyes sparkling over the cake they'd gotten him for his birthday, of quiet resignation and silent determination, and those last words --  _ "For the future I wanted to believe in." _

"Yeah," says Ritsuka, quiet because of the lump in her throat. "If it's who I think it is, he's definitely safe to talk to."

About anything. There's a reason Ritsuka had applied to Chaldea. She hadn't had anywhere else to go, and seen a flyer at a station -- and it'd seemed better than her other options. That's it. The doctor had been one of the things to make it home.

Nancy looks at her sidelong as they walk. "So the fact his Servant calls him Daddy --"

"He's not mine," says Ritsuka, a bit shortly, "not like that, anyway. Does it matter? He took care of me. He took care of everyone, even when they didn't know he existed, or didn't believe he did. Some people call him Father, I guess."

The father of magecraft counts as a father, right? Daddy is something else. It's --  _ paternal _ . It talks about care, as well as protection. Ritsuka had never really thought about those distinctions, but they seem really important now..

Nancy opens her mouth but all she says is "Okay. If he'll recognise you, then that's okay. When we get to the Pools of Siloam, they're going to be guarded."

"By which side?"

"The king. He's tried to cut off access, I'm pretty sure, but there's something about the pool and the Master's temple which stops them from being able to stop  _ him _ from siphoning power. The most he can do is get between us and the temple. Theoretically, if we get into the pool we can use the aqueduct to cut past the king's territory and into the temple itself."

"Hasn't anyone tried to sneak past before?"

"Maria comes out this way," says Nancy, "but whenever some of us have tried to go back the same way, no one's returned. I've been observing the area as much as I can, and judging by the residue there are some very angry ghosts inside the aqueduct to keep people out."

"They'd be nothing to the likes of Jack," Ritsuka agrees, thinking of sharp knives and a jacket which seems to become shadow on a whim. "And she's not the kind go to extend herself unless you have something else to offer, or can prove you have something useful to give her daddy."

... That sounds  _ horrible _ . Ritsuka winces. Yeah, she's not using that phrasing again. Not when talking about Doctor Roman.

"There'd also be a matter of energy expenditure," she continues, to get her mind off it. "If he's taking up that much energy with a Servant, and the temple, and defending the temple, then trying to help people come in to talk to him might be too much."

"That's what I've been hoping," says Nancy. "There's some here who think he's just a decoy to split our attention, so we can't defend against the king."

"Why do they think that?"

"Colonel Kudasehva says she saw the man who made the temple, and she says it was the king, no question."

Ritsuka thinks of Goetia wearing Solomon's body. After seeing Doctor Roman in his true form, seeing them almost side-by-side, there's no way she could be fooled again. Everything about Goetia had suddenly seemed like a well-made mannequin, a little stilted but convincing enough if you didn't have the real thing to compare it to. Everything about Doctor Roman -- about King Solomon -- had been smooth and grace and a light in his eyes of seeing everything, compared to the cruel desperation in Goetia. 

"Just because they look alike doesn't mean they're the same person," Ritsuka says, quietly again, but this time not because her throat is closing. "Trust me. If you ever get the chance to see them together, you'll know which one's real and which one isn't."

Nancy looks at her sidelong again. "Why do I get the feeling you've had that chance?"

Ritsuka laughs a little, shortly. "It's really weird that you don't know that. I thought all the phantom spirits knew."

"I've been stuck here a while."

"Right." Ritsuka nods. "Sounds like it's been hell. I can use that word, I have special dispensation, after all the places I've been."

Nancy's grin is a flashing thing, teeth more like affectations, and too-bright against the greyness of the spirit. She doesn't answer, though, and raises her finger to her mouth, and they both move in silence toward the end of the street, Nursery Rhyme vibrating quietly under Ritsuka's arm. Skulking. It's a skill, and Ritsuka has learned it, and when they get to the end of the street there's a flight of stairs leading down, narrow but at least not super steep.

Mostly the problem are the two guards standing at the top of it, looking highly on alert. Nancy indicates down, and holds up another two fingers.

That makes four, and classes unknown -- but they look like cavalry, which means Nursery Rhyme won't be at a disadvantage. That should be all they need.

Ritsuka still wishes Mash could have come with. She doesn't say that aloud, of course, where Nursery Rhyme might hear it; but she does skulk a little closer, very carefully, until one of the guards looks over frowning, in the way of people sure that something's there without quite being able to tell how or what. That's when Ritsuka opens Nursery Rhyme's book, and in a flash and crackle of ice both the soldiers are flung off the top of the stairs, colliding with the wall across the space with a sickening thud. Ritsuka winces. They might just be souls already dead, but they sure sound convincingly alive.

Shouts from below are a bad, bad thing, but they need to come up to call for reinforcements, Ritsuka is pretty sure; except the ones charging out from a side-alley most  _ definitely _ didn't come from below. Nancy shouts, Ritsuka ducks, and something cold and grasping rushes overhead and impales the soldiers' throats with a gurgle of air escaping. The figure turns in a swirl of black cloak and Ritsuka sees the bone-white mask before the Hassan steps back into shadow and vanishes.

"They're coming," says Nancy, and sure enough the soldiers at the bottom of the steps come barrelling up -- Lancers both. Probably the length of their weapons would've made going down the stairs a real hassle, Ritsuka thinks; and then she flings Nursery Rhyme at them and the book spins joyously in a flap of its covers, an aerial flip to avoid the pointy ends of the spears that would be the envy of any pilot.

Ritsuka doesn't see the Hassan, only the rush of shadow and the contrast of flashing ice and darkness: and a few seconds later the soldiers are on the ground, probably very dead, or as dead as they can be in the place that only the dead can come to.

_ Does Doctor Roman count as dead if he erased himself to get here? _

No. Nancy had said human, not a soul. That means not dead. After all, only dead people can make it to the Throne of Heroes.

There's a moment when Ritsuka looks at the shadows where the Hassan probably is, and something taps on the doorway of her mind but doesn't open it. There's an idea there, but it's not important; and Nancy moves forward so Ritsuka does too, holding out her arms so Nursery Rhyme can settle into them, cover flicking shut. They both check the steps to make sure they're clear, and when Nancy looks up Ritsuka nods. Nancy goes first down the staircase, not because she can do much but because the warning is better than Ritsuka being taken by surprise. By now she's used to letting others go ahead of her. She's the one with the life to lose; if her Servants die, they'll only wind up back at Chaldea.

She's not sure where Nancy would end up, though. That's a thought she doesn't like.

Despite the name, the Pool of Siloam doesn't look like a  _ pool _ : it's more like a channel beside a very tall wall, hidden in a narrow lane and accessible only by those stairs. It seems more like an open sewer, except the water is actually clean.

"Are we walking up there?" Ritsuka asks, peering into the gloom formed by the tunnel from which the water emerges and into which it flows, and the narrow steps ascending beside it.

"No, over this way," says Nancy, crouching by the water. "Look at this." She taps something stacked by the wall, dented and just as grey as everything else is in this place. Ritsuka peers over her shoulder as Nancy picks one up, and they prove to be a series of waterlogged rifles. "I guess the king's solders collected them after they washed down from the aqueduct."

"It doesn't belong to them?"

Nancy shakes her head somberly. "No. They belong to the Vatican Women's Rifle Team who tried to reach the Master through the pool."

She sets the rifle down where it was and rises, brushing off her knees, but Ritsuka spends a couple moments more looking down at them and working through the pang in her chest. She hates this -- hates seeing what's happened before she arrived, the desperation and the urgency and the pain. She can't take it away, only do her best to mitigate it in the future.

To live is to be in pain. But it's to be joyful, too. These are phantom spirits. Wherever they are now, Ritsuka just hopes they're at rest.

"Isn't it sacrilegious to walk in the water of something like this?" she asks instead as Nancy hops in with a ripple, and pauses mid-action to look disbelieving and calculatingly up at Ritsuka.

"Do you care?"

"Little more now since I've started meeting real gods, to be honest." It's the question she hasn't dared to ask: if gods exist, what about That One? The one to whom King Solomon had prayed, right before he sacrificed himself? And, extending on that, if the concept of the grails exist, then ... well, they had to come from  _ somewhere _ , which means ...

Questions Ritsuka still isn't sure she wants answered. Mostly, it had seemed easier to just ... treat the deities like very childish adults, and let all religious trappings seem more like they're eccentricities than empowered actions which can change the fabric of the world.

Right now, though, if Doctor Roman is up there, walking around in some sacred pool isn't going to stop her. If God exists, she's pretty sure he'd forgive that kind of thing. He forgave David, didn't he?

She hops in the pool after Nancy, tightening the strap on her shoulder-harness to make sure her gear stays above the surface of the water, and propping Nursery Rhyme on her shoulder to make sure of the same. The book's front cover lifts very slightly, shining a light before them like the flashlight Ritsuka's been avoiding using, to conserve the batteries.

"How far do you think it goes?" she asks, and the ceiling is close overhead so her words are dull instead of echoing.

"I don't know," Nancy admits, turning her head so Ritsuka can hear despite the closeness of the space. "Like I said, no one's ever come back."

"Well, this is going to be fun," Ritsuka mutters. At least with Nursery Rhyme they'll have the advantage in terms of class. Right now, she tries not to breathe too hard, and slogs on through the water behind Nancy.


	8. The other Master

The ghost's shriek echoes in the closeness of the tunnel, and Nursery Rhyme's cold blast makes Ritsuka shiver and cover her face against the icicles. Light is a warped, translucent thing, breaking apart on wreaths from the phantasmals with even less solidity than the phantom spirits.

"We've got to be nearly there by now," says Nancy, sounding tired for all that she's not actually real. 

"It's got to open up sometime, doesn't it?" Ritsuka returns. This isn't the first time she's trudged through someplace like this, but she could really do with a bit more space about it, even if the water is clean and freely flowing. It's also up to her thighs, and her boots are hopelessly wet, and now so are her trousers. Yay.

Something flaps at her shoulder and she flinches, but it's Nursery Rhyme, just Nursery Rhyme, settling against her shoulder like a giant paper bat. Ritsuka reaches up to hold it there nonetheless, as they've been doing the whole way up. Her arm's aching -- both of them, she's been switching them out.

"You're sure it --"

"Wait."

Ritsuka cuts off and leans into the wall, back flat to present the narrowest target she possibly can. She breathes through her mouth slowly to avoid the sound, lets the water's ripples fade around her legs. Nancy barely leaves a ripple at all, thanks to being a spirit.

For a while there's nothing. Ritsuka's arm starts to ache, and the air feels humid and stuffy, and she has to take slower breaths more deeply. Nancy holds up a hand in the darkness, just barely visible thanks to the interplay of light and the fact that something about this place seems more grey than black; and then there's the sound of water, so slight that it could be water flowing, and isn't.

"There's light up ahead," says Nancy softly.

"Another staircase?"

"Might be."

Well, they can't stand here forever. Ritsuka shifts forward to keep walking, and abruptly Nursery Rhyme bucks on her shoulder and her grip fails with a jolt of her bones that make Ritsuka yelp. It's not a loud enough yelp to cover the thud of daggers hitting the book's cover, flicking it back into Ritsuka's chest; she catches it before Nursery Rhyme falls into the water. She really doesn't know if a book like this can get soggy or not.

"What --"

Wait. That dagger --

_ Crap. _

"Wait!" Ritsuka cries, a little too late: daggers flash in dim light, and this time Nursery Rhyme shudders but doesn't float. Instead there's a ring of steel hitting steel and the sound of something striking walls and dropping into water, and Ritsuka feels the heart-punching rush of cold of the Hassans passing.

"Maria --"

"You know my name," says a voice, soft from the end of the tunnel, and Ritsuka can see her movement as a silhouette in the light.

"Yes," says Ritsuka, and tugs the daggers out of Nursery Rhyme's front. It flaps its cover a few times, shaking out its pages irritably, but Ritsuka keeps hold of it when it tries to rise out of her arm. "I came to see your daddy. Please, Maria. I don't want to hurt anyone in the temple, I swear."

Jack's shape remains still, blocking the exit; and then abruptly she straightens and turns, and Ritsuka really hopes that sound is weapons being sheathed. "If you try to hurt Daddy, I'll cut you up," says Jack, half-dreamily, and that's no less unnerving for the fact that Ritsuka can't see details. "Come along."

Ritsuka slogs forward through the water until she comes abreast with a grey shadow which is Nancy. Phantom spirits probably can't breathe, but Nancy releases one slowly anyway, and Ritsuka musters a grin. "Hey, we found it."

"I'm not made for direct confrontation," Nancy grumbles. "I'm a detective, not a soldier."

But she turns and pushes off the wall, and slogs on ahead of Ritsuka, and in short order they come out into the relative light of a courtyard made of stone. It's an eerily open space after the narrow streets even with the tents and awnings pitched, and especially after the aqueduct; but eerier still is that the light cast by the walls of the temple seems to be giving the stones colour they didn't have before. It's not much, at first; but then Ritsuka looks back at the city, and sees the way the light filters through the greyness, and it looks like a never-fading mist. There's a set of stairs leading down, and phantom spirits in the greyness, guarding the entrance. At least there's some kind of protection.

When Ritsuka looks ahead, she can see the golden glow the temple leaves. It's different to Gilgamesh's tones, all metallic and effusive; this is a softer light, highlighted by brown tones, warm and welcoming like candlelight.

"So this is the Master's temple," says Nancy, very quietly, her gaze on the building before them. "I've wondered if it looks the same as the one on the Temple Mount."

"It's still there?"

"Search me. No one's gotten close enough. But  _ something _ is glowing up there, right?"

There is a bit of movement in the courtyard, if it can be called that; piles of gear sitting around, and people standing around, and a long empty space which looks like it could be a runway, because the planes are turned in that direction. They're mostly old style, bi-planes and things Ritsuka has seen in museums, and never actually working. The nearest cluster of -- engineers? Pilots? -- turns toward them as they pass, but none of them make a move toward them as Nancy and Ritsuka pass from the outer courtyard into the inner.

Nancy frowns. "What's  _ that _ ?"

From a distance the structure before the temple looks like some kind of statue, but as they get closer she starts seeing the horns and the hooves and the shapes that look like a cluster of unmoving oxen; and as they get even closer Ritsuka can see the rim of some kind of basin on their backs --

"Is that a  _ bath _ ?"

Maria looks back, and Ritsuka can't see her face in the darkness and the hood. "It's where the water comes."

Ritsuka looks back. The aqueduct does lead from the tunnel to the statue, but when she touches the water's surface it goes sort-of nebulous. She's pretty sure that's not how it was meant to be originally, so maybe Doctor Roman adapted it somehow ...

Her heart starts pounding. Doctor Roman might be through those doors. Without meaning to, Ritsuka speeds up, first just to a fast walk and then to a jog. Maria makes an irritable noise as Ritsuka passes her, but doesn't try to stop her; and then Ritsuka's running past the oxen and the basins and the doors are right  _ there _ in front of her, and open guarded by a lookout wearing a samurai's armour who barely gets her mouth open as Ritsuka shoots past.

There's a long rectangular room horizontal just inside the doors, big enough for people clustered; but Ritsuka doesn't pause to see whether or not they're refugees, or someone else, because there's no familiar face here and she  _ has to see _ . Nursery Rhyme wriggles under her arm and Ritsuka lets it go to float behind, and continues onward. Past this first room the doors stand open; and past them is a much larger room a flurry of activity, and in the middle of that -- in the middle of that --

"See if the pilots can drop more supplies into the city, and send decoys into the territory owned by the Clockwork Oranges to determine whether this newest sortie has weakened their defences at all --"

\-- sweeping red jacket and armour gleaming on shoulders, and hair so long and thick that it's practically a cloak all on its own; except, Ritsuka knows, for a single looped braid over his shoulder.

" _ DOCTOR! _ "

Her shout makes him turn away from the man in the priestly robes to whom he'd been speaking, and even though his skin is dark and his hair is white and his clothes are different, the smile when he sees her is all-over Doctor Roman, gentle and happy and like a ray of sun breaking through clouds. If he means to say anything, Ritsuka doesn't care; she flings herself at him as soon as she's close enough, and he staggers back to catch her and his balance at once.

She would have liked to be composed, would have liked to be able to say something other than his title right away; but instead an explosive laughing sob is what comes out, just as soon as she buries her face in his clothes, arms wrapped tightly around his waist. Even with all these clothes on to make him look bigger, he's as narrow as she remembers. A moment later his hands come down on her shoulders and he bends over her, and she's pretty sure she feels his breath in her hair and maybe something damp dripping; and she really  _ does not care _ . Her face keeps doing things into his tunic, and every time she takes a breath she cries instead of talking.

Finally, finally, Ritsuka manages a weak punch exactly where she'd been gripping his clothes. "I knew it -- I  _ knew _ it -- you can't d- do something that  _ stupidly heroic _ and then j- just -- vanish -- that's not how stories w- work --"

His laugh is scattered, the way she remembers it being, like he's never been sure whether to laugh; but now Ritsuka's pretty sure it's because of the tears audible in it. "Well ... then you knew more than me ..."

So equivocating. Ritsuka thumps his chest with her fist and finally pulls back with a long heaving breath, with tears all over her face she doesn't care about, because her grin is just that huge. Her eyes can cry all they want. They're not going to stop her from being here, doing this, and hugging him again, probably. She doesn't let go of her grip on his clothes, and he hasn't let go of her shoulders. She doesn't remember him letting her hug him, in Chaldea. She'd had to surprise-glomp him. He kept himself distant from that, even when he was so kind to everyone.

There's a flutter of pages and a snap of Nursery Rhyme's covers, and Doctor Roman looks up, lifting his hand with a crooked smile. Covers snap on his finger and he yelps; but the next moment Nursery Rhyme burrows into his hair, and somehow this is the funniest thing Ritsuka's seen in weeks -- funny enough to bury her face in Doctor Roman's chest and laugh, and laugh, and he doesn't stop her.

Eventually she pulls back and takes another deep, shuddering breath. "Did you know we'd be coming? Nancy thought maybe you'd be expecting someone to come."

Doctor Roman's eyes are wet, but his skin's a little too dark now to tell whether his cheeks are too. His smile is full and brittle at once, like sunlight cracking; like it can't decide whether it wants to be happy or not. "Yeah. I was hoping so. I haven't been able to leave the temple."

Ritsuka glances around, and it's the barest glance she can stand before looking back at Doctor Romani. Gold, wood, whatever. She's seen a dozen richly-furnished temples. Doctor Romani's more important. There's only one of him. "Why not?"

"It's a Territory," he tells her, and pauses, and looks at her sternly. "You remember what Da Vinci's said about Territories, right?"

It's such a familiar look that Ritsuka has to laugh for it. Yep, she's hugging him again now, no take-backs. Her voice is muffled into his tunic. "Yeah, I remember. They're maintained by the will of their creator, and they usually last longer if the creator is nearby."

"Exactly," he says over her head, in tones like he's trying to be business-like. He still hasn't taken his hands off her shoulders. "In a place like this -- well, suffice to say that everything about it is bent on destroying my temple. So, I can't even step out the doors."

He sounds regretful. Of course he does. Some days lately Ritsuka's wondered if he would've gone to other Singularities, if he could, if he didn't need to hold Chaldea together. She's never seen someone so easily flustered who does so well in dire situations. Well, she's only sixteen -- but she kind of thought those things were opposite traits.

Not anymore.

"That's what I thought," she says into his shoulder, and pulls back again to wipe her eyes and swivel, searching for Nancy.

"Here," says Nancy, turning around from inspecting one of the walls with a magnifying glass. She comes toward them, all composed, but her eyes are thoughtful and piercing. "So you're the other Master. You  _ do _ look like the king, from a distance -- but up close, I see what Ritsuka meant. There's no way I could mistake you for  _ him." _

Doctor Roman's smile looks a bit brittle again. "Ah, yeah. That's a thing. We can get to that in a minute. Ritsuka, have you made base-camp yet?"

"Nuh-uh." Ritsuka shakes her head. "There haven't been any leys, I don't think -- as far as I can tell, anyway. I can't get in contact with Chaldea."

"That's not surprising." The doctor looks over his shoulder, nudges his elbow back, and Ritsuka sees the movement in his hair of Nursery Rhyme snapping around its nest. "But you figured out how to summon Servants, so that's great."

"It's about the anonymity," Ritsuka says at once. "As soon as Nancy said you summoned Jack, I figured it out. There's Hassan around here somewhere -- I haven't got a good look at him, but I'm pretty sure he's not any single one of them, and Nursery Rhyme's only been as a book."

"Alice is a named quantity," says the doctor absently. He squeezes Ritsuka around the shoulders again and releases her, and turns with a smile, beckoning. "Come on. The Temple's on a ley, so you'll be just fine establishing a camp. That'll give you a bit of extra energy and we may be able to establish a link with Chaldea."

"Really?" Ritsuka beams at him, and skips forward the single step necessary to take his hand, and to hell with his look of surprise. "Let's go."

She's no longer alone. That's worth a lot.

And Doctor Roman is _alive_. That's worth even more.


	9. Those unforgotten

Romani wonders if he can possibly find a gracious way to rub his face with his sleeve without letting on that he's been crying. Maybe it's already too late, it's not like Ritsuka could have missed it; but  _ come on _ ! A man's got to have some pride, doesn't he? Especially in a moment like this, in a reunion, in front of people he'd known in his first life. Besides, his face is itchy.

It's hard to take the opportunity when she grabs his hand like that, and he doesn't dare glance toward the priests of the temple to see if anyone has noticed -- or whether any of them care, about Ritsuka taking liberties.

He doesn't remember his chest ever feeling like this before; like it's tight but full of warmth as well. The truth is that he's been crying sporadically ever since he got here. It's not totally unusual, because when he was first reborn he sure had a lot of troubles with feeling things in ways and with an intensity he'd never had the chance to feel as king. Spending his days curled up in front of soap operas and bawling had been a highlight of the first few months after his initial rebirth.

Somehow, Romani had figured he'd felt just about everything a normal human could; and yet. Hope, and not knowing, had hurt and enlivened in ways he'd never felt as a king constantly hearing the Voice of God.

"Show me your base camp," he says to Ritsuka, trying to hide the way his voice wants to go thick with tears. Also, hoping for a least a few minutes of time to compose himself while she sets it up. "I never did get to see you do this in person. The centre should be right here."

"That's because you had too much to do back in Chaldea," Ritsuka says cheerfully, and doesn't seem to care about what her voice sounds like. Romani envies her for that. He's never quite been able to shake off caring how other people view him.

... Maybe there's a good reason for that, but he's not going to linger on it too deeply; not right now. Instead he releases her hand as she pulls her pack over her shoulder, reaching for the gear she'll need to make a reading for the leys. Romani stands back from the centre to give her space, resting elbow on arm, and trying, sort-of discreetly, to wipe his face with the sleeve that absolutely isn't usually attached to his hand in any way shape or form, but  _ is for now, damn it. _

Someone's watching. Romani hasn't lost his finely-honed sense for that. He turns with a breath but instead of Zadok or Nathan it's Nancy there, looking at him thoughtfully; and his first instinct is to smile, and waggle his fingers. "Hi. Nancy Drew, am I right?"

"Yep." She looks at him for a moment longer, and then at Ritsuka. "She said you took care of everyone."

It's unfair, the way that makes his chest tighten. Romani coughs. "Yeah, I ... I guess I did."

"And you don't act anything like a king." She glances sidelong, her eyes narrowed. "A king wouldn't have been crying."

Romani's smile this time is more wobbly than he'd like. "I really don't know what kinds of deductions you're trying to make."

Nancy shrugs. "Just general observations, for now. Did you get here before or after she met the other detectives?"

"Other detectives?"

"After," Nancy murmurs, and reaches into her pocket. Romani doesn't see whether or not that involves writing something down, because Ritsuka draws his attention.

"Hey, Doctor." She grins at him over her shoulder, her eyes still wet, and she doesn't seem to be inclined to do anything about that. "You know, usually Da Vinci gives us a lecture on something relevant while we're setting up. Talk to me!"

Oh, right. Romani's laugh is quiet, and he rubs his face more in chagrin -- but hey, it gets the itchiness off his face. Nailed it, with dignity. "Um ... right. Well, this is Jerusalem. Um. Maybe you'd better tell me what you know so far."

"Right," says Ritsuka, focused on fixing one of the devices. "Well, I know this is Jerusalem." Her grin is flashing, and then she sobers. "We detected the Singularity -- and by 'we' I mean Da Vinci. It's an odd one, from the outside; she said it's more like a black hole, if all the other Singularities were novae. She said not to expect them to be able to communicate with me, but we didn't think I'd have trouble summoning. Nancy said this is a place people go when they're forgotten."

Romani takes a deep breath and nods. "That's essentially it. When I first arrived it had some shape, but most of it was darkness. The only beings were were phantasmals and lost souls -- though I didn't find out about the lost souls for a little while. There is a grail here, I'm pretty sure, but it's connected to whatever force is keeping the Singularity contained."

"So the grail being here isn't the cause of the Singularity?"

"In the most basic sense, yes," Romani admits, and it's easy to fall into this, into explanations and lectures. It's -- soothing, in an odd sort of way, as if he finally has an outlet for things he's been missing for the last ... however long it's been. Singularities don't spend time the same way. "The weight of this place isn't caused by the grail; the grail arrived here in response to something else's desires. That's the thing that's uses the grail's power as a gravity to drag in phantasmals and lost souls, and keep them here."

"Because it's lonely?" Ritsuka asks softly, looking down at the third device to plant the ley. She seems to be taking her time about it. Romani pretends he hasn't noticed.

"I think something like that," Romani answers quietly. "I'm not sure it's a person, exactly. There's a lot of things out there which don't really feel the full gamut of emotional reactions that humans do." Like kings, trapped in the throes of the Root's power. "Sometimes, when a phantasmal gets powerful enough, they become a manifestation of whatever they were feeding on, and the loneliness of being forgotten is something that can carry crushing weight." They're both looking at him now, and Romani realises he might have said a little much; so he coughs and rubs his face again. "Well ... I imagine it does, anyway."

There's a moment Ritsuka looks like she's going to ask, and Romani  _ really really _ hopes she doesn't -- and, thank everything, she doesn't. Romani doesn't know whether he can describe those moments of free-fall, of erasure, knowing he would never approach being seen ever again. He's not sure he was ever truly seen to begin with.

He clears his throat just to make sure he'll be able to continue. "Basically, this Singularity reflects the nature of loneliness -- rejects everything, and yet craves anything. Fortunately, I think if we can find and retrieve the grail, we'll be able to halt the distortions it's creating. If the grail is what's maintaining the prison, that should release the souls trapped here too, and they'll be able to continue on their way. In that sense, your mission is going to be exactly the same as it was on previous occasions."

"Got it." Ritsuka nods and gets to her feet, stretching. "You really think we'll be able to contact Chaldea with this?"

"Well, with a bit of extra help, anyway." Romani turns to the pair of women not-quite in a corner and their quiet conversation stops, as if they'd just been keeping an eye on him, waiting for an indication it's their turn. He beckons to them, but they're already coming over; Rear Admiral Hopper is leading, like she always does, small and sprightly and at least 60, and wearing her Navy uniform. Romani still isn't quite over it. She looks like someone he feels compelled to obey, as a student of magecraft and medicine whose education wasn't all that long ago.

Hopper salutes. "Rear Admiral Hopper reporting for duty, Your Majesty."

"Ah, don't call me that," Romani murmurs sheepishly. Somehow it never stops her. It doesn't get her to lower her salute, either.

"Yes, Your Majesty. Is the base camp ready?"

Romani looks at Ritsuka. Ritsuka nods, looking at them with that fascinated squinty look she wears when she's trying to be professional and figure something out at once. "Yep. All ready. Rear Admiral Hopper?"

"Grace Hopper," Romani says. "She invented COBOL, the first computer-programming language. And  _ this _ \--" This is toward the younger and the one who looks like a model. Or an actress. "-- is Hedy Lamarr, who invented techniques which made Bluetooth technology -- and by extension, wireless internet -- possible."

He's a bit disappointed to see that Ritsuka's eyes don't bug out like they have for some select individuals, but she's grinning and she looks impressed, anyway. That's something. Especially at Hedy Lamarr. "So they're all into computers, huh? Are you all building the communication to Chaldea?"

"That's our mission," says the Rear Admiral briskly. "Unfortunately while His Majesty --" Romani grimaces. "-- could give us a detailed explanation of the read-outs he expects in Chaldea's control-room, and some basic idea of the coding, he's not versed enough in it to give us a sole foundation. Your base-camp will be the spring-board we require."

"Will I be able to summon Servants properly?"

"Doubtful," Hopper acknowledges. "This is for the purposes of communication."

"However," adds Hedy, "I'm working on a similar technology which may enable you to leap-frog Servant summons from base-camp to other locations."

Ritsuka's grin widens. "Wirelessly?"

Hedy's smile is dazzling. "Something like that; something like that. Excuse me, Your Majesty."

The two of them together brush past him and Romani tries to smile at Ritsuka. "Ah, people here keep calling me all sorts of things ..."

The people here are at least half his, from his lifetime. He shouldn't expect any different -- but the idea of Ritsuka hearing that from someone who  _ looks _ like they're from his era ... it's an oddly unsettling thought.

Ritsuka's gaze follows the two phantom spirits, before calling back to him. Her smile is -- twisted. It looks painful, and makes Romani's heart pang. "It's what you are, isn't it? I mean, should I --?"

She motions vaguely and Romani's chest clenches so hard that he feels sick with it. "Please don't," he says, a little faster than he means, and in a voice that almost cracks. He forces a smile to take the edge off, and isn't sure whether it works. "I didn't choose to be king. I chose to be -- Doctor Romani Archaman. So, if you don't mind, I'd ... prefer that. Despite ..." He motions at himself. "... You know. How I look."

And how people keep calling him. And the stir of robes somewhere behind him which he  _ knows _ is Nathan listening, and not intervening.

Ritsuka's smile dissolves into relief, and unexpectedly she lunges forward the slight distance to hug him again, arms tight around his waist. "Good," she says, fierce into his chest. "That's a lot less awkward, anyway."

Tentatively Romani puts his hands on her shoulders, since that had seemed to work well last time; but this time she doesn't hold her hug for nearly as long. Romani tries to pretend he isn't missing the warmth when she does, only smiles at her cheerfully and turns. "Well -- let's go see how they're doing, then."

"Yep." Ritsuka nods and takes his hand, and even though it's his own territory, she's the one dragging him. Nancy is watching the work; Maria has found a place to sprawl against the wall, a bundle of old clothes which hides most of her features except badly-cut hair. She might be watching. She might be sleeping. It's hard to tell; but she's been a good bodyguard so far, when Romani's relying on Benaiah to keep the security of the stairwell, and the few guards he's got at his disposal.

Hedy straightens up as they get close, giving them a dazzling smile. "Can you try to contact Chaldea, Master Ritsuka?"

"I should be able to hear them right away," Ritsuka says, reaching for her gear and fumbling for the radio she's probably rarely had to activate herself. Romani catches Nancy looking and realises his expression might be fonder than he realises, and clears his throat, vying for somewhat more dignity.

"Not if they don't have a channel open because they're not expecting to hear you," he corrects. "We kept that channel open all the time, in other Singularities, just in case -- but the static can interfere with other readings."

"Oh. Guess I've never been on the other side, huh?" Ritsuka finds the radio and clicks it, and immediately the static is so piercing that half the people nearest clap their hands over their ears. Hastily Hedy reaches down to adjust the equipment, and then --

"-- life-signs have started to calm down," reports one of the command room staff, and all at once Romani's chest swells with warmth and his eyes blur and his throat closes. Ritsuka glances his way and he tries to answer her small smile with one of his own, but it comes out wobbly. "There's definitely Spirit Origins nearby."

"At this point, chances are they're friends," says Da Vinci, brisk and confident, and Romani clasps his hands behind his back and looks at the ceiling, studying the patterns in the cedar, and blinking away wetness.

"Hey, Da Vinci-chan~" Ritsuka cuts in, voice all of wicked cheer, and in pause on the other end of the static Romani can well imagine the moment of stunned relief.

"Ah, there you are," says Da Vinci cheerfully. "It's good to see you're okay. Not that we doubted you were, of course; we can see everything that's happening to you on this end." Someone in the background says something made inaudible by static. "Well, your emotional and physical states, anyway. Rest assured, we have been confirming your existence admirably. Oh, and now that we've made contact --" Her voice gets a bit lower, like she's turned away. "Can we get a better reading on the time differential now? Yes? Excellent. Ritsuka, what can you tell us about where you are right now?"

"Well, for one thing, I'm in Jerusalem," Ristuka says with the biggest grin Romani's ever seen her wear. "And you'll never guess who's standing next to me right now."

"I'll bet I can," says Da Vinci, and then she adds with voice full of warm cheer, "You haven't been waiting too long, right, Romani?"


	10. The narrow strains of hope

Romani really can't help the strangled noise that comes out of him then. Look, he never claimed to be dignified -- people just seem to think he  _ is _ , by dint of being ... kingly. Ex-kingly. Honestly, it's a surprise that the worst the Servants said about him is that he's a coward ... although that really is the worst they could have said.

"Ah, and that's the sound of Romani being rendered inarticulate by surprise," Da Vinci says with, if anything, greater cheer and greater warmth. Romani looks at Ritsuka, mouth opening and shutting, and Ritsuka erupts into giggles. "Is he doing the goldfish?"

"He is  _ definitely _ doing a goldfish," says Nancy since Ritsuka can't, staring with fascination. "Gosh, and you looked so dignified, too."

" _ Doctor Roman _ , dignified?" comes staticky and laughing and incredulous and somehow teary in the background of the communication. 

"I, um ..." Romani manages to fumble, after all this, and laughs at himself, face in his hand. He does not dare to turn, to look where Nathan even now hovers. Zadok might even be hovering there too, if he's finished distributing Romani's orders to his priests. That would be too much, to have to see their understated reactions to him fumbling. He's already seen too much of the way they look at him sidelong.

Ritsuka takes some deep breaths and explains, "He looks like he did right now. That is -- how he looked ... you know. In his first life."

Romani braces himself for he-knows-not what reaction, but all that comes is Da Vinci saying matter-of-factly: "Well, yes, that makes sense. He cast off his reborn body in order to fight Goetia. I look forward to seeing the goldfish while he's wearing his king's face."

His face freezes. Romani can't help it; it just  _ does _ , before he can manage it. He used to be so good at hiding anything else, possibly because he rarely ever felt anything else. Now, the most he can manage is to freeze his face in a faint, fixed smile. Ritsuka sees it and narrows her eyes. "Doctor?"

Ah, damn it. Romani coughs, and clears his throat, and manages a smile which is faintly wobbly. "Ah, sorry, Ritsuka. I should've explained. I'm probably not leaving here."

Her gaze gets sharper. "Why not?"

"I'm not a Heroic Spirit," Romani explains, apologetic without having to try to put it in his tone. His chest feels tight. "I have no Spirit Origin to read, nothing to summon. I'm human."

"Then we'll bring you back in the coffins --" Ritsuka begins, and there's a light in her eyes, something Romani can't quite define except that it's probably that inimitable stubbornness which has carried Ritsuka through so much. Romani's already shaking his head.

"My body would have dissolved in the coffin when I gave it up. There's nothing to leyshift. There's no Spirit Origin to summon." He puts his hand on her head, trying to pretend that it isn't trembling, that his throat isn't tight, that his eyes aren't wet. "So, when we've fixed the Singularity ... I won't be going anywhere. I began here and I'll end here. In Jerusalem."

Maybe, if he's lucky, he'll still have ground enough to maintain the temple ... and some of his -- advisors, so he won't be alone ... or maybe not. That seems a cruel fate to demand of them.

Ritsuka shakes her head -- denial, not to shake off his hand; and then she lunges and gets her arms around him again, and squeezes so hard that his ribs creak. "Da Vinci will figure something else out," she says fiercely. "Da Vinci's a genius."

Romani doesn't know if the sound he makes is a sigh or a laugh or a sob. Hopefully not the last. Definitely not the last. "Ah, not this time, I think. I'm not sure even Da Vinci can convince the Throne to accept a Heroic Spirit who flung themselves out of it ..."

"Just for that," Da Vinci says, "I'm going to say 'watch me', Romani Archaman. You put a challenge in front of a genius, you need to take the consequences."

Romani shakes his head again, but the smile is a little more real, if no less brittle and no less sad. He's surprised he manifested in any sense, really. His intent had been to erase himself entirely. He's spent a lot of time, in this place, thinking about the whys and hows; and all he can think is that he supposes if erasing himself didn't equate to erasing the gift of magic, maybe there had been some kind of -- whiplash. It's possible he's not even really human. It's possible he's just a phantom spirit who thinks he is.

"Anyway. The situation here is straightforward enough. A grail, manifested independently, has given something with extreme loneliness the power to draw everything into its surroundings. My appearance here has give the Singularity a shape, but theoretically it could change forms with the addition of outside interference."

"Then the gravitational effects are a result of the nature of the phantasm," says Da Vinci briskly. "That's good to know. We were concerned this would be the cause of one of the demon-god pillars who escaped the Temple of Time."

The sensation of gut shrivelling isn't one Romani appreciates in any circumstance. He opens his mouth and the closes it, shaking his head. No, he doesn't want to know details. They'll only make him feel worse, if he can't actually help. "Right. I can't tell whether the power of the phantasm is reflective of my presence or whether its strength was generated independently. Either way, just retrieving the grail should disperse the Singularity."

"I hope you know where it is," says Da Vinci cheerfully. "That might make this one of the most straightforward Singularities yet."

"Well, I have a suspicion," Romani admits. "It's hard to tell when I can't leave the temple. I've tried to coordinate with the other rebels, but --"

"Wait, wait," Da Vinci says, and Romani waits, taking a deep breath. Right. "Can you tell me more about the rebels?"

"Right." Romani nods, marshalling his thoughts. "Whatever phantasm has the grail, I think it's taking the position of king of Jerusalem. Probably even my form." These words come out far calmer than Romani expects, and by the time he realises, he's already continued. "In as far as potential phantasmals, it might even be Asmodeus."

"Who?" Ritsuka asks, frowning hard the way she does when she's listening, as if she thinks it'll all leak out of her ears if she doesn't concentrate hard enough. It makes Romani smile to see it.

"Asmodeus is a jinn from the period of King Solomon's reign," Da Vinci answers before Romani can, or decides whether he  _ wants _ to. These are things -- these are things of which he hasn't spoken. He'd confirmed Da Vinci's tacit realisation after Okeanos, he'd bared his soul to Magi*M -- to -- to Merlin -- but that had mostly been in the context of who he was and what he has to do, not ... these kinds of domestics. "According to the stories, Asmodeus was the king of demons captured by one of King Solomon's rings. King Solomon wanted to know what would make demons more powerful than humans, so Asmodeus asked for the ring so he could demonstrate." Romani winces. "Depending on the variations of the specific story, this demonstration involved throwing the ring into the sea, casting King Solomon out of Jerusalem, and taking his place as king, whereupon he ruled as a despot until King Solomon returned. Conventionally for forty days, I believe."

Ritsuka, halfway through, turns toward Romani with a raised eyebrow and the biggest grin. Romani coughs. "Ah, well ... suffice to say the temporary coup isn't inaccurate ..."

Ritsuka's grin widens. "Soooo ... you're not going to tell us why you thought it was a good idea to give a ring to the king of demons? It didn't occur to you that he might get pissed?"

"Honestly? No." Romani turns back to the equipment, his face burning despite the fact his new-old complexion is better for hiding that sort of thing. "Anyway, Asmodeus makes the most sense. He might not be the real one, but that's the story that seems to be playing. The rebels are mostly made of the phantom spirits who know this isn't the real Jerusalem, or otherwise object to a despotic rule, or just want to protect the refugees."

"Ah!" Ritsuka's hand flies up like she's in class. It's something Romani appreciates, honestly. It's a lot easier to navigate conversations when someone indicates they're about to talk. "Nancy says the refugees are real, by the way. That is -- how did you put it?"

"They're real souls," Nancy confirms. "They're not phantom spirits, not like us. But they're not human, either. My deduction has been that they've been pulled in en route to the Root."

There's a contemplative pause. Romani looks out toward the temple entrance, to the refugees clustered in the front atrium -- and more of them in the courtyards, under awnings and tents. "Some of them might have been pulled out of the cycle of reincarnation altogether," he says, absent and grim. "There are too many here which reflect too many disparate eras. That wouldn't happen if the Singularity were fully in accordance with any single time."

"It's nesting in Jerusalem currently," Da Vinci tells him helpfully, "but we read its presence before it actually settled. According to our data, Laplace was following it even during the Grand Order; it just never reached a point of critical mass, and with so many other priorities, the system didn't see fit to bring it to our attention."

"So it's been gathering people from all over," Ritsuka murmurs, and looks up at Romani with her most worried-determined face, the one which makes Romani want to reassure her that everything will be okay and also makes his chest ache that he can't. Not with eyes like that. Those are eyes belonging to someone who's seen too much. "And you're sure that retrieving the grail will set everyone free to go back into the cycle of reincarnation?"

"This isn't a place in history," Romani says simply. "Not like the other Singularities."

"But it was lurking around before ..." She stops, and takes a deep breath, and without stopping to think about it Romani puts his hand on her head, and ruffles her hair.

"Before I got here. But I didn't bring a grail with -- it had one on its own. Sometimes those manifest independently; we know that now, thanks to Chaldea's research."

"Don't they need to be attracted to something first?"

"Well, that's true," says Da Vinci, "but there's a lot of things which can attract a grail, and they are, fundamentally, wish-making devices. If there's a wish that resounds consistently and powerfully across human history, it's possible the grail is attracted by that wish. In which case, it truly is the grail giving that wish power."

"And in this case, the wish is to not be forgotten," Nancy says, and makes a face. "Why is it that wishes like this always get so twisted?"

"The grail is a device, not a person," Romani points out. "It doesn't understand nuances. It's not even an Authority, technically. Just attempt to manufacture it." He hadn't meant to say so much, or even be terse about saying it; he grimaces and rubs his face. He has a lot of feelings about that particular Authority. He hadn't realised being defensive on its behalf would be one of them.

"You would know," Da Vinci says cheerfully, completely ignoring his tone. "Romani's right. Grails can appear when there's a wish represented in time and space which is strong enough to draw them. If this particular wish is consistent throughout humanity, no wonder we couldn't pin it down until something pinned it down for us. Though there is something fundamentally ironic about Asmodeus having control of it ..."

"No kidding," Ritsuka mutters. "So you think Asmodeus has the grail?"

"That's right," Romani answers, leaping gladly on the excuse to talk business, instead of the nuances of things he's spent a long time not thinking about. "He'll be in the palace. There is no temple over there, though I'm sure the space is waiting for it."

"There isn't?" Ritsuka asks, startled, and glances toward Nancy.

"It's why my temple is over here," Romani explains. "When I first built the Territory, it showed where it's meant to be, on the Temple Mount. The power on the throne rejected me, and therefore the temple, and pushed it over here. He's expending a lot of energy stopping the temple from anchoring where its roots ought to be. So, it's the palace that's his stronghold. Chances are, the grail is taking the shape of a ring, so you'll know it when you see it."

He turns without thinking and only remembers just  _ who _ is going to be behind him too late to brace himself; but Nathan only lifts an eyebrow, without quite disrespectfully looking him in the eye, and wordlessly presents the scroll he's been working on. Nathan always had been the best at being pointed without disrespectful.

"Thank you, Nathan," Romani murmurs, and feels a bit pathetic to feel so grateful, or so obliged to be so: even while knowing that, too, is going to be unfamiliar to his old mentor. Romani takes the scroll and turns back, clearing his throat. "We've drawn a map of the palace and where the ring is most likely to be."

"Ah, that's useful," Da Vinci says. "I shouldn't have expected anything else. I don't suppose you can scan it for us?"

"Shouldn't be a problem," says Hopper briskly, holding out her hand for the scroll. "I thought we might need some kind of imaging transference capability. Some of the other ladies came up with some workarounds."

"Wonderful!" Da Vinci really can stand to be  _ less _ cheerful, Romani feels, except that he can't bring himself to say something that would puncture it. It makes him smile, but maybe not the happy sort: it's the sort where the sound of her cheer is like a dagger in his heart for things he won't get to keep. "Then what you need is for Ritsuka to go and scout the palace and try to ID the location of the grail, correct?"

Romani nods, forgetting for a moment that the nature of this Singularity has made visual communications impossible. "Yeah. There's a couple of problems with that. Firstly, between us and the Temple Mount is territory belonging to the Clockwork Oranges."

Ritsuka coughs in a way that hides a laugh. "Wasn't that a movie?"

Romani's smile is only a corner of his mouth. "Yeah, it was. Some kind of superhero movie. The real-life Clockwork Oranges were an all-female gang based in London -- and they were one of the most feared street-gangs in London history."

"Right," says Nancy, nodding. "We've stayed away from their territory -- none of us have been able to even approach getting through them, and there's no way to get to the palace  _ without  _ going through them."

"Only one of my people has managed it," Romani adds. "Kate Warne, a private detective who worked for the Pinkerton Detective Agency. She's one of the best undercover detectives in history --"

"I'm noticing a trend about women being best and winding up here," Ritsuka mutters.

"-- and she's managed to get through the Clockwork Oranges to infiltrate the palace. I haven't heard from her recently due to difficulties getting word out through Asmodeus's forces, but I can send a message she won't miss giving her coordinates to find you. She'll be able to help you get into the palace."

"But not through the Clockwork Oranges?" Ritsuka guesses in a cheerful way which is not, at all, a guess.

Romani shakes his head, giving her a wry smile. "It would take too long to send a message and wait for a response to coordinate our efforts. We'll need to get you through the Clockwork Oranges without her help."

"You sound like you have a plan," Nancy says, eyes narrowed, and then adds, "I'm going, by the way. Ritsuka needs backup, and if this is the only opportunity I'm going to get to look at the crime scene, I'd better take it."

"I'll need to check with Amelia and Maureen," Romani admits, "but theoretically I suppose it's possible."

"Who?" Ritsuka asks, as Da Vinci makes a comprehending sound.

"Ah, makes sense! Ritsuka does have ample experience with falling out of the air."

"Wait, what?!" Ritsuka backs away a step, holding up her hands. " _ Falling _ ?! No way! I've done that before -- I've done it more than once! I'm not falling anywhere!"

"You'd have a parachute," Romani reassures her. "Amelia Earhart and Maureen Dunlop de Popp -- Maureen flew planes in World War 2. Thirty-eight different kinds of them, to be exact."

" _ That's _ your plan?!" Ritsuka yelps.

"Fly us over the territory owned by the Clockwork Oranges," Nancy muses, "and parachute into the palace gardens. Okay, yeah. That should work."

"Parachute!"

Romani crosses his arms, and impassive regality is far easier to channel in this body than it ever was in the gangly narrowness of his reborn one. "Have you a better idea?"

Ritsuka stares. "Oh, wow, that was creepy. Don't do that again, it'd do my head in to have to think of you as  _ kingly _ . There's enough kings in Chaldea as it is."

"Agreed," says Da Vinci, "and I hate to think what Gilgamesh would get up to, trying to one-up you. Or Ozymandias; he's just about your contemporary, isn't he?"

"A few centuries off." Romani sets free the smile he'd been repressing, and honestly, that feels good:  _ having _ a smile to repress, and not having to hide it, and doing so just for the fun. Good, for the few moments before guilt hits. Ah, emotions. "I prefer this, anyway. But this is the best we're going to get, I think; otherwise you'll need to fight through the Clockwork Oranges."

"None of us have managed that yet," Nancy adds, staring at Ristuka curiously. "What's bad about parachuting?"

Ritsuka groans. "Remind me to tell you about Arash and Shinjuku later. Okay,  _ fine _ . I'll parachute. But you better have something good waiting for me at the end."


	11. Like clockwork

_You'll be fine,_ Ritsuka reminds herself. _You've got this. You've fallen through the air a whole bunch of times._ _And those times you didn't even _have_ a parachute. Everything will be fine._

Somehow, this litany doesn't convince her heart to stop trying to burrow out of her chest through her ribs. Sure, theoretically if she's already survived being flung through the air three different times -- two of those in Shinjuku -- then she's bound to survive this one, since she has help.

On the other hand, three times is already pushing her luck and ten to one something will go wrong with the parachute. Nervously she tugs at the strap, just to make sure; but it's hard to tell whether it does anything, given she's in the bowels of some kind of bombing plane and therefore  _ everything _ is rattling.

"Okay back there?"

Maureen's voice comes crackly with static, half inaudible thanks to the aforementioned rattling even though she sounds like she's shouting. Ritsuka fumbles for the radio, takes a moment to remember how it works, and clicks it on. She thinks. It's the old-fashioned sort; it was the only equipment Hopper and Hedy had been able to hook together. "Yeah."

She sounds scared stiff, that's how she sounds, and right now she's wishing Mash was here with her. Things seem a lot easier to handle when she's not alone. Nancy isn't quite the same, and is in a totally different plane, anyway.

Ritsuka clicks on the radio again. "What's the name of this plane, again?"

"De Havilland Mosquito," Maureen answers. "My favourite kind. We'll be over the Clockwork Oranges in a tick -- you'll know when the bomber doors open. Just wait for them to fully retract before letting yourself out of the harness, okay?"

"Got it."

Why can't these things ever happen without her needing to be falling through the air?

In far too short a time something in the fuselage crunches and scrapes, and with a bang the doors in the bottom of the plane start to retract. Ritsuka pulls back her feet with a jerk as the seams under them moves, and air rushes in. If the plane were metal, Ritsuka thinks, the rattle would set her teeth on edge; it very nearly does, even though it's timber -- just in a different way. Timber sounds a lot more fragile than metal does, when it's rattling.

Crapcracrapcrap she hates this so muuuuuch.

She fumbles for the straps keeping her into the harness on the wall -- not even a seat, just a harness; the plane was only built for two, long-term, both in the cockpit. Technically, Ritsuka's in the bomb-bay.

She's about to be dropped like a  _ bomb _ .

... Okay, when she thinks of it like that it's kind of cool.

With a thud the doors retract entirely, and Ritsuka takes one quick deep breath before throwing herself out, trying not to give herself time to think. Immediately the winds whip at her, and though there's a scream in her throat she doesn't dare open her mouth for it. She's not sure if it's exhilaration or terror, but either way, it's not getting out. With numb fingers she gropes for the ripcord, yanking on it and for a moment terrified it won't work.

Then it does: she feels the give, the shloop of silk leaving the knapsack and the horrible jerk around her shoulders and chest as her free-fall is, abruptly, stopped. Owwwww. She's gonna be feeling that one in her neck after.

The parachute isn't the kind that lets her steer -- not that she'd probably do a spectacular job of it anyway -- but when she risks looking down she can see the darkness that is the garden. Doctor Roman had showed them the map, pointed out the best places to hide -- but landing is up in the air.

... Heh. Ritsuka snorts to herself. She's hilarious.

When Ritsuka looks up she can't see past the mushroom of the parachute, and it makes her wobble alarmingly in the air; so she looks back down again, swallowing hard. The ground rises up much faster than she's strictly comfortable with, and there's a minute when her legs kick the air because she can't be totally sure when she's going to  _ hit _ in this kind of darkness.

Then she does and she bends her knees and forgets too late she can't roll. The result is that she tumbles into the lines and fabric of the parachute, which is at least a soft landing, she guesses? So much better than breaking her leg. Even if her ankles are now aching. Ritsuka sits up rubbing her legs and biting her tongue so she doesn't hiss or otherwise reveal her location, if a body landing in a silk parachute hasn't already done that.

"Ritsuka?"

Nancy's voice is very low, and Ritsuka gropes for the buckle on the harness, and her hand cramps as she squeezes it. Why's everything from a few decades ago so  _ stiff _ ?

"If this great big thing doesn't tell you that, I don't know what to say," Ritsuka mutters, but quietly. Between her and Nancy they manage to get her out of the parachute, and Ritsuka can finally stand up and look around, and skulk beneath the nearest tree while Nancy stuffs the parachute under a bush. First things first: Ritsuka checks her link to Servants. She still can't reach Chaldea -- they weren't expecting it, just yet -- but when she murmurs the names of Hassan and Nursery Rhyme, she can feel the sluggy response. They'll answer her call, as promised.

"I don't think anyone's noticed us," Nancy says somewhere close enough to Ritsuka's shoulder that she jumps.

"Great." Ritsuka musters a smile. Her heart's still pounding from that fall. Controlled fall. Whatever. "Can you tell where we are in the garden?"

Nancy nods and beckons. "This way to the nearest safe entrance. These kinds of plants are only in one area, Doctor Roman said."

"I'm  _ so _ glad you're good at remembering the names of ancient shrubbery." Ritsuka follows from shadow to shadow, and startling a little at movement which turns out to just be leaves rustling and other small things. She's really not sure what they're going to be running into, here: Asmodeus's guards, or something else. Doctor Roman had asked them to try and avoid killing anything in the garden -- any of the animals, he'd amended quickly. Ritsuka hadn't had a chance to ask what kinds of animals would want for killing in there. At least, not until she'd remembered those stories about King Solomon talking to animals ...

_ Does that mean Doctor Roman's an actual Disney princess? _

Ritsuka snickers to herself and shrugs at Nancy's raised eyebrow; but for the most part they get through the garden safely. There's one slightly-tense moment when they edge around a tree almost onto a lion's tail, and back quietly away: but the thing looks asleep.

Actually, all the animals they see look asleep. Even the birds are practically falling off the branches. Ritsuka taps Nancy's shoulder and leans up against a tree, and clicks the radio. Almost at once Doctor Roman's voice comes through, scratchy and volume turned down very low.

"Ritsuka?"

"Everything's asleep," she says very quietly into the radio. "Everything in the garden, I mean. The birds, the lions ... everything."

There's a burst of static she's pretty sure is the doctor breathing a sigh of relief. "Okay. Actually, that's good. It means Asmodeus doesn't have quite enough power to make them obey him."

"Could he before?" Ritsuka asks. "I mean, with only one ring?"

There's a moment of silence. "Ah, well," says the doctor in that tone he uses when he's hedging, and Ritsuka sighs. "Most of history says I only had one ring to begin with, didn't they?"

" _ Doctor _ ."

"It's complicated! Probably too complicated over the radio like this. Suffice to say that Asmodeus had all the power of all ten rings at his disposal -- he just couldn't use half of them. Command of animals was one of them. They weren't fooled by his appearance."

"So the fact that he can't control them now ...?"

"Probably means they extend outside the general wish on the grail," says Doctor Roman. "They're still  _ there _ , because they're a part of Asmodeus's wish for dominion, and the things he once tried to command and couldn't -- but they're not souls, not enough to command in the same way as the wish."

"Pets can help you stop being lonely," Ritsuka mutters. "I definitely need to know more about this talking-to-animals thing, by the way. Maybe when we're all safe back in Chaldea." She turns off the radio then, so the doctor doesn't have to contend with the painfully awkward silence, but she can still imagine that horrible fixed smile he wears when someone has hit on something he doesn't want to talk about, and can't help but feel. She'd gotten to know that smile very well, after he told her about Mash.

\-- Crap. Mash. Had Mash said anything in their conversation? Ritsuka can't remember. He doesn't know about Mash yet!

"Ritsuka," Nancy hisses, and Ritsuka shakes her head and nods, following Nancy's beckon to the next tree. Shrub by shrub, trunk by trunk, they skirt the towering construct that is the palace. Even patchwork through foliage, Ritsuka can see how grand it is; and she's got to know how much of it is imaginings and belief, and how much of it was real. Gilgamesh's ziggurat had sure been impressive. There's not a lot to top that, but the palace Solomon built probably qualifies as a contender.

They get to the edges of the garden and immediately run into a problem: there's guards at every door, including the ones Roman had said would be their best chance. There's open windows at some parts -- but that's no help when the ground is open between garden and doors, and no way to cross it without being seen.

"How are we meant to get in?" Ritsuka whispers to Nancy, which isn't hard because they're squashed behind a bush. "We haven't heard anything from that detective yet." One of the pilots had definitely done a flyover to drop a message, but without being able to get through the Clockwork Oranges there's no way to get responses back. She checks her watch. "Did we put a time on the note?"

"Yeah," Nancy whispers back. "It hasn't passed yet. Let's wait a bit -- otherwise, maybe your doctor could talk to one of the animals through the radio."

"That might be a giveaway ..." If the animals are all sleeping, it'd be pretty weird if one of them started walking around. Ritsuka squints through the leaves and then shifts her seat so she can settle a little better, half sprawled in the dirt so she can see under the foliage, and keep an eye on the guard's feet. Nancy opts to sit up a bit more, but in the end they both have the same thing to do: wait.

And wait. Ritsuka checks her watch. It's about the time they'd specified. This would be a perfect time for something to go wrong.

The guard's feet shift and Ritsuka starts paying attention. She can just hear footsteps coming nearer; and then they're audible without having to strain for them. They don't sound like boots, but then -- probably the detective can't be wearing boots.

"Your Highness," says the guard, and Ritsuka sees his feet shift again as another pair come within view, slender and small and without sandals at all. He's speaking in another language, probably Ancient Hebrew, but Ritsuka has got used to the sound-warp that turns other languages into ones she can understand. At least Nancy had been English to start with.

Highness might be bad, though. Highness might be very, very bad, even if there's something guarded about the way the soldier talks.

"Be at ease," says the newcomer, all soft and understanding, and definitely a woman. What does 'Your Highness' mean in Ancient Israel, anyway? Or whatever it is they're actually saying? Daughter, sister? Mother?

Mother might be awkward. This can't be their contact, then, unless she's just  _ that _ good at disguises.

"Here. Drink and be at peace in the name of the Lord. May your spirits be lifted on these dark nights."

"... Thank you, Your Highness." The awkwardness leaves in the face of relieved gratitude, and Nancy tugs so suddenly on Ritsuka's sleeve that Ritsuka's halfway up before her thinking-brain can assert itself. By that point she's already cleared enough of the bush to see the guard is facing away from the garden, and the woman in the doorway clad in dull-colourful robes is very definitely looking directly at them and making small but urgent gestures with her hands while the guard's distracted by drinking.

She speaks and Ritsuka doesn't bother to listen, other than to register that the words rise and fall like an incantation or a ritual. Nancy pulls and Ritsuka follows and together they rush across the open ground between garden and wall, to the nearest open window. Nancy hops in light as anything, as if she climbs through windows all the time. Which she probably does. Ritsuka is not far behind, scrambling in and trying not to knock her boots into anything, and not quite managing it.

"Did you hear that?"

Why do guards have to be so  _ alert _ all the time?

"Yes," says the woman in the semi-colourful robes, and Ritsuka sets her feet as gently as possible on the floor and ducks so she's hidden under the length of the window. "I think it went into the bushes. The beasts of the garden  _ are _ still sleeping, are they not?"

"They must be," says the guard, but he sounds a bit unsure; and when Ritsuka risks using a hand mirror to see over the ledge, she can see him stepping out toward the garden, weapons angled into the shadows, but without getting  _ too _ close. Just enough for him to try to see, and her to be able to tell he's not looking their way. "I suppose if anyone could turn them, it would be the conjurer in the false temple." He spits in the ground and backs away to the door without turning to any vulnerable points to the garden. "I'll have to report it."

"Allow me to alert my holy brother," says the woman. 

_ Holy brother? _ Ritsuka mouths toward Nancy, and Nancy shrugs.

"The Lord smiles on you for your service."

"Thank you, Your Highness." Now the guard just sounds relieved, and Ritsuka hears footsteps, light on floor, and starts edging along the wall to get away from the window without standing up in it. The door on the far wall opens very suddenly and quickly, and Ritsuka freezes; but the shine of light from outside frames the silhouette's edges as colourful fabric, and the woman beckons without saying anything.

Nancy goes, and if Nancy goes, it's probably safe. Probably. Even Kingu hadn't waited this long before revealing himself -- although Merlin and Ana had had something to do with that ...

Ritsuka needs to stop second-guessing herself. She follows them out into the hall, and the phantom spirit with the colourful robes puts a finger to where her mouth should be, and beckons them to follow. Which is what they do, because what other choice do they have? Either Kate Warne is impossibly good at disguises, or she'd made some allies. Ritsuka kind of hopes it's the second one, because it would really suck if they had to fight their way out.

So: she follows, her heart pounding her chest and wishing she had the wherewithal to look around at this palace that had belonged to Doctor Roman.


	12. Her holy brother

The woman in the colourful robes takes them down halls which, while not dusty, at least seem less used than others. Ritsuka can't tell what makes the difference; it might just be a matter of shadows hanging around. In this place, atmosphere is its own character. Finally they enter a room which looks to be some local prayer-room, with a shrine burning incense next to a lamp on an altar at the far wall, and a skylight leaving a vague square on the floor. On a pillow in front of the shrine rises a woman wearing much simpler linens and robes.

"Oh, hello, Nancy," she says without much surprise, but with an implication of a smile in the smooth shadows of her non-face. "Glad to see you made it."

"Hello, Kate," Nancy greets her back with English calm. Ritsuka kind of hates them both for that. Nancy motions back. "This is Ritsuka. She's human."

"You know, that didn't used to be something worth advertising," Ritsuka mutters, resting her hand on the radio to surreptitiously click it on and watching the woman in the colourful robes close the door quietly. Ooh, no open door. Bad for escape. Her back itches. Instead of giving in to that, Ritsuka waggles her fingers at Kate. "Hi. Looks like you made friends, huh?"

"This is Tamar," Kate says. "She's a priestess, but the pretender in the palace right now isn't too fond of people in whatever he's calling his pavilion of a temple, so she's set up in here."

"This room used to be used for worship prior to the temple's completion," says Tamar without any inflection, the way she'd spoken to the guard outside. Her hands are folded over her robes, her head lowered. Ritsuka doesn't like that. "The pretender does not like this place. It has been the simplest place to hide."

Ritsuka looks around. "Why would it care about some random repurposed room but want to reclaim the place where the temple was?"

Tamar looks up at the skylight. "This is where the ritual for the Time of Birth was conducted."

Ritsuka's mouth goes dry. Shit.  _ Shit _ . Shit shit shit. 

"The time of birth?" Nancy asks, turning, and she sees Ritsuka's face. "Hey. What's up?"

"Nothing," says Ritsuka quickly. "Let's talk about something else." Not the best deflection she's ever done, but whatever.  _ Time of Birth _ . She does  _ not _ want to talk about that right now. No way. Not with Doctor Roman on the line. Maybe she'll ask him later.

Much, much later.

Next century, maybe.

Nancy nods slowly, looking at her. "Okay. How about we talk about what we're here to do, then?"

"The message the doctor sent didn't say much," Kate says, motioning for them to sit down and taking a seat herself on the cushions. "But if it's time for infiltrating, I suppose we're getting ready to overthrow the pretender then, right?"

"That's about it," Nancy agrees, motioning at Ritsuka. "Ritsuka's a master, she can summon Servants, and she's recovered artefacts from a number of different places."

"You'll be who Doctor Roman was waiting on, then," Kate says to Ritsuka while Ritsuka tries to decide how many cushions she actually wants to sit on, on this timber floor.

"Yeah," Ritsuka answers without pride. "I've worked with him before, recovering grails from Singularities like this. He thinks the grail will be in the shape of a ring." She sketches a shape with her hands in the air. "And it'll probably be in the throne-room."

"Then this is a heist." Kate grins. "I like those -- when I'm doing it on the side of the law, of course. I haven't been able to get close to the throne-room myself, but --"

"There is a ring there," Tamar says from over Ritsuka's shoulder, and Ritsuka really doesn't like that either; but Tamar comes closer and sinks down to one of the cushions with the kind of grace Ritsuka's gotten used to envying. Her hair's long and unbound, and Ritsuka's pretty sure she can see where there's a hint of curl, like Roman's hair had.

... Like David's does too, come to think of it. If they're siblings, they've probably got the same father, right?

"Is it stealable?" Nancy wants to know.

"It might be," Tamar says slowly. "The throne is -- not an ordinary throne; but it's dormant, currently."

"Um." Ritsuka puts up her hand, and Tamar's faceless head turns slightly toward her. "Explanation please? Is this likely to be something that will come to life and try to eat us if we steal from it?"

Ah, now she can see the curls, in the cascade of hair as Tamar shakes her head. "No. It's not  _ that  _ sort of throne. It's full of stairs and mechanisms, and in my holy brother's lifetime it would lift him to the seat. But it's been locked since it manifested; the pretender has had to walk up the stairs."

"God forbid kings have to walk up stairs like normal people," Ritsuka mumbles, not quite as quietly as she means, and even though Kate laughs, Ritsuka regrets saying it when Tamar goes extra still. "Um, sorry. Modern people -- we're kind of irreverent. I forgot." You'd think she'd know better after Orleans, too -- but then again, they'd used phrases like that unsarcastically, so maybe not. "So we need to sneak into the throne-room and steal the ring from the throne, is that about it?"

"It's not so easy as that," Kate tells her. "From what I've heard and Tamar's sketched for me, the throne isn't just a big chair on a dais. It's something like ten feet tall -- you'd have to  _ climb _ the thing."

"Are you  _ serious _ ?" Ritsuka lifts the radio. "Is she  _ serious _ ? What did you  _ need _ with a throne that tall, anyway? Even  _ Gilgamesh  _ didn't have a throne that tall!"

"I was fifteen and clairvoyant and a prophet of God, what else do you expect?" Roman shoots back, full of crackly-static and terseness, and Tamar goes very still once again. "Anyway, they're right: it's too tall to climb without being seen. Fortunately, I built it and therefore know how it works."

" _ You _ built it." Ritsuka raises her eyebrows skeptically at the radio.

"Alright, I  _ designed _ it, then. My point is: I know where all the mechanisms are. You think I was so cruel as to make people climb up and down those steps anytime they wanted to bring me something? There's a plate on the arm of the throne which can be mechanically lowered and raised. It's the most likely place the ring has been displayed on, so all you need is to get behind the throne and manipulate the mechanics."

"Oh, that makes things easier, then," says Nancy, almost cheerfully. "In that case, all we have to do is get into the throne-room without being seen. Palaces usually have secret walls and things for servants, don't they?"

"Nope," answers Ritsuka, matching Nancy's almost-cheer.

"Not so much," says Roman in the same moment. Nancy blinks.

"Servants in ancient civilisations weren't cordoned off from their employers," Ritsuka explains. "Sometimes their houses were actually pretty nice, too. The Chaldean Embassy in Uruk was  _ really _ good."

"The invisible servant motif is something which began in England in the seventeenth century," Roman adds. "It's actually very recent, comparatively speaking. No, there are no secret passages in my palace -- I didn't have the real estate for that." Kate snorts. "Alright, I didn't have the real estate I wanted to cordon off to pretend people didn't exist. There were much better uses of the space."

"Like the Forest of Lebanon?" Kate asks, and there's amusement in her tone.

"Well, it's a nice introduction to the palace, isn't it?" Roman says defensively, and Kate laughs. "Honestly, the way you people treat me ..."

There's a whine in his tone, but it's the kind of whine which is trying to hide a smile, too. With how often video was down while she was in Singularities, Ritsuka's gotten used to hearing the difference; and now she can't help but think of the way he'd flinched when she asked if she should call him by his kingly title. He really would prefer to be teased, she's sure.

"Getting around should be simple then, right?" she asks, grinning. "We just need the right clothes and to keep our heads down. Servants don't have to be invisible, but that's not the same as being  _ seen _ ."

"It's how I've been getting around," says Kate, plucking at her clothes. "Though it's easier for a phantom spirit, I suppose -- you might be able to get away with a veil?"

Ritsuka blinks. "Isn't that a standard?"

"Not in  _ my _ century, it wasn't," Romani mutters. "Though people are more likely to assume you're from the harem, and believe me, that's something I'd rather steer clear from."

Ewww. Ritsuka grimaces. "Double ditto. Maybe I can just have a lot of towels over my shoulder, or something."

"It shouldn't be too easy to fake, either way," says Nancy briskly. "Okay. So Ritsuka and I will wait here until the two of you can bring us some disguises. Tamar, will you be able to get us into the throne-room?"

"Perhaps," Tamar says cautiously. "To refill the braziers, or ensure cleanliness, it would not be out of place. Many of the palace servants are wives of the palace guards."

"Buuuut?" Ritsuka prompts, because there is definitely a 'but' somewhere in there.

"The pretender does not like people entering the throne-room."

"Someone's got to clean it, though, right?" Ritsuka motions, remembers the radio, and puts it down to finish her gesture. "I mean, even a pretender wants a clean throne-room. Otherwise what's the point in having it? He  _ uses _ it, right?"

"Mostly to give orders to his armies," says Kate, "but I'm pretty sure there's some magic going on in there -- there's someone I noticed leaving who was definitely a phantasmal pretending not to be." There's a sound over the radio, a sound like twisted disgust turned into static, and the line of Tamar's jaw indicates a grimace. Ritsuka wisely manages to hold onto a smart remark. It wouldn't go over well, and it'd only make Doctor Roman feel bad.

"Does he ever  _ leave _ ?" Nancy asks patiently. "He goes to visit this pavilion he's got in place of the temple, right? It's part of the inner workings of a palace to clean the well-used rooms, I assume."

"This much is true," Tamar acknowledges. "Such workings happen with or without interference, to enable the men to lead: that is a woman's work." Ritsuka really can't help the way her nose wrinkles up, and judging by the twist in the shapes of Nancy's non-face her reaction is much the same; but neither of them say anything. "Very well. We will have to time carefully to ensure he is not in the throne-room. There will be guards -- but guards will not question working women."

Kate gets to her feet and stretches. "Wait here. There's some cake on the table if you're hungry." She points somewhere to the back of the room. "Give me about an hour and I'll see about coming back. Try not to talk too much while you wait; it'll start sounding off if people keep hearing voices without prayers."

"Got it," says Ritsuka, getting to her feet to go investigate food. Doctor Roman had food at the temple, but once Ritsuka had found out she was supposed to parachute into the gardens, she hadn't had the appetite for much.

"I'll be here if you need me," says the doctor, and the the faint sound of static cuts off as he turns it off until Ritsuka indicates. Tamar rises, smoothing down her robes, and even though she has no face her head's turned in Ritsuka's direction. Which is -- eerie. Really, really, eerie.

"What?"

"I've never heard anyone speak to him in such a fashion as you do," Tamar says, quiet and contemplative. "Nor have I heard him speak so, to others or to himself."

Ritsuka frowns. "Speak like what? How did he talk before?"

"So full of emotion," says Tamar. "Even before he was crowned, his voice was always measured. Always certain. He never spoke as a child did. It was hard to remember he  _ was _ a child. And the things he knew ... he would never have been hesitant. Never."

"Well ..."

Well. Ritsuka really doesn't know what to say to that. In the end she shrugs.

"To me, he just sounds like Doctor Roman. Sometimes he tries to get out of things, and sometimes he cares a little too much about what people think about him, but when things are really bad, he steps up, and then he sounds like he knows what to do." Recently Ritsuka remembers the way she treated him sometimes, the same way the Servants treated him, like he was some kind of coward -- as if he could have come into the Singularities with her, without any magic at all. Sometimes, when all the people she had around her were Servants, it was easy to get carried away with what they thought and things they said.

When she remembers, it hurts, like a knife in her heart. She hadn't known regret could feel like that.

"I guess it would have been weird, to have a clairvoyant brother."

"I did not see him often when he was very young," says Tamar, her voice distant. "I was -- secluded for some time when he was a child. The first time I met him was in the garden of our father, but I knew who he was instantly. It was hard not to know ..."

She falls silent, and Ritsuka fidgets before prompting: "How did you know?"

Tamar lifts her arm to show the drape of her sleeve and the colour in it. "I was a prophetess, of sorts -- a reader of dreams, a priestess. I had some touch of our Lord's will; there were some things I could know and understand that others couldn't. Nothing like my holy brother. I did not get to know him well, after -- but none of us got to know him well. Aside from his siblings by the Queen Mother, I was perhaps the one who knew him best; and even then, I knew him not at all."

She is  _ not _ going to ask, she is not going to ask, she is  _ not _ going to ask --

"You guys  _ were _ siblings, right?"

Damn it. She had to ask. Ritsuka really can't interpret the way Tamar looks at her then. "We shared the same holy father, yes. But my holy brother was much younger than I, and the rest of our siblings, who weren't of the Queen Mother, did not like him much."

Right. That much, Ritsuka remembers from her reading up on King Solomon. Stuff about how his brothers tried to take over the throne, or something.

"Families of kings are really something," Ritsuka mutters. "Anyway. He talks like he talks, and these days he talks like he  _ wants _ . The way I heard it, what with the will of God and all, he didn't have much chance to feel things like emotions. Now he does, so he talks differently. See?"

"No," Tamar admits, and it's about as human as she's ever seemed for someone without a face: her voice all wistful. "But -- he seems more like a person, this way. I was never quite sure whether he knew how to feel things."

That sounds pretty alarming, honestly. Ritsuka tries to imagine it, Doctor Roman being all calm and mechanical all the time, instead of the adorably flustered doctor who  _ cares _ . Doesn't always do things right. But cares. She can't imagine it.

"Honestly, clairvoyance is starting to sound like the short end of the stick," she says, and shrugs. "He's the one who wished to be a normal human being, you know? So I think he prefers it this way too."

"Good," Tamar murmurs, and Kate beckons, a little impatiently, by the door.

"Come on. With any luck at all, you'll be able to talk more later."

"No. This suffices." Tamar bows toward Ritsuka. "Thank you, Master of Chaldea."

"No problem." Ritsuka waves with a waggle of her fingers, and watches them exit the room. Great. Now she's going to be stuck in here for an hour, wondering about this ritual for the Time of Birth she's absolutely not thinking about.


	13. A king's throne

In the end they have to wait less than an hour. Kate comes back with a bundle of linens in her arms, moving with her head down up until the door is shut, and she can lift her face with an implication of a tight smile. "Nothing happened, I hope?"

"Quiet as anything," Nancy reports, moving over from the altar, which she'd spent the intervening time examining without touching anything. Ritsuka hadn't bothered to look much. Lamp, incense. Your typical altar; just the shapes of things are a little different. "Run into any trouble?"

"Nothing unusual," Kate admits as she comes into the room and sets down the linens to start shaking them out and comparing them against Ritsuka. "But it's always a bit of a risk, especially around the throne-room."

"No one can tell that I'm not a phantom spirit, right?" Ritsuka asks, stretching out her arms as if that will help. "Without seeing my face, I mean?"

Kate and Nancy exchange looks.

"It's a bit of a risk," Kate says delicately, "and to be honest I was hoping I'd be able to sneak into the throne-room without you -- maybe with that radio. We'll be safe enough just passing in the corridors, but given more than thirty seconds around you and anyone would be able to tell."

Ritsuka frowns. She doesn't like the idea of having to wait around while someone else does the work. For one thing, they're still deep in enemy territory, and if they're separated and anything goes wrong, it's going to end badly for one of them. "Well, there's one way to find out if that's plausible."

She reaches for the radio and double-clicks until static comes online. "Ritsuka?"

"Doctor, is there any reason why I have to go to the throne-room? Kate's worried about the other spirits figuring out I'm not one."

"Yes," says Roman immediately. "Didn't I -- I may not have. The mechanisms on the throne are powered by magic. Only a mage would be able to get it to work."

"That's inconvenient," says Kate, "but we should be able to manage. We'll just need to keep you moving through the corridors, and make sure to keep you away from any other phantom spirits in the throne-room. Since we're already planning to be in there while it's empty of anyone but staff, that shouldn't be difficult."

"Wouldn't staff ostensibly be on our side anyway?" Ritsuka wonders. "I mean, you found Tamar."

Both the phantom spirits shake their heads. "Tamar was unusual," Kate explains. "A lot of the souls and phantom spirits hereabouts are acting according to their natures. For the souls, it means whatever they did which is incarnating here. I'm a detective; I detect. I'm also a phantom spirit, which means I'm more aware of the limitations of the construct here."

"But Tamar --"

"To be honest, I can't tell whether she's a soul or a phantom spirit."

"The priests at the temple were like that too," says Nancy. "Some of them were definitely souls -- but there were a few of the men who surprised me. They felt like they were somewhere in-between trapped souls and phantom spirits."

Ritsuka blinks. "I didn't notice that. Who?"

Nancy shrugs, and it's Doctor Roman who answers. "She'd be talking about Nathan, Zadok and Benaiah. And she's not wrong. They're here because I'm here, but I can't tell whether they're manifested spirits or real."

"Who are they?"

"Trusted members of my court," says Roman simply, and he says it with a tone of finality Ritsuka hadn't heard from him very often. "So is Tamar."

"So why'd she wind up here in the palace instead of out in the temple with you?"

"I'm not sure," says Roman thoughtfully, "but I can probably guess, and none of my guesses are really relevant. Suffice to say, you can trust her, but probably not any of the others. If they can't tell you their name, it's a bad sign."

"The detectives in Shinjuku didn't tell me their names," Ritsuka mutters, "but I guess they knew who they were, so it sort-of amounts to the same thing."

"I have  _ no _ idea what you're talking about," Roman announces, with an edge to his voice which might have been wistfulness or might have been sulk. Sometimes it's hard to tell. "Either way, phantom spirits can't be mages -- not the way we know them, and not in a way that's conducive to that kind of manipulation. So you'll have to go, to manipulate the throne's mechanisms."

"And you'd better tell us how to do that now, Doctor," adds Kate, handing Ritsuka her disguise. "Once we're in the throne-room it'll be a very bad idea to use the radio."

"Got it. Ready?"

Those explanations takes enough time for Tamar to come back, and Ritsuka is muttering under her breath, trying to remember the pattern of instructions the doctor had given her.

"Are we ready?" Nancy asks as soon as Tamar enters, and the only response they get is a nod. "Ritsuka, are you ready?"

"As ready as I'll ever be, I think," says Ritsuka.

"Remember the order of the animals on the steps, and you'll be fine," Roman reminds her. "One of the others can spot for you, if they have to. You'll be fine, Ritsuka. You've done much worse than this."

"I feel like I'm going through my dad's underwear drawer." Static crackles as Doctor Roman splutters, and Ritsuka grins.

"Well, now  _ I _ feel like all my dirty laundry is being hung out in public," he complains, but Ritsuka can hear the laugh in it, and because of that, she's not afraid to laugh herself. "Ugh. Okay. I'll be here if you need me, but try not to need me -- it'll be going very bad for you if you use the radio. Good luck."

"Thanks, Doctor." Ritsuka turns the radio down -- if Roman has to call her for some reason it'll crackle, but only softly. Then she nods at Tamar. "Okay, let's go."

Tamar inclines her head and turns to hold the door for them, counting heads and adjusting scarves. It's not strictly needed, but, Kate had explained, wearing something over hair is decently common among the palace staff, if only to keep the sun off or their hair under control while working. Like a hair-net, Ritsuka had figured, but he throat was a little too tight to say anything.

She tries to keep track of where they're going as well as she can: but Mash has a better head for directions, and not for the first time Ritsuka misses her with a fierce aching in her chest. It always happens, at least in all the recent Singularities -- but there's something about Doctor Roman being here which makes it worse. Everything is weird and strange and she doesn't like it.

She can put up with it, if it means Doctor Roman is coming home with her. Which he is. Because Da Vinci is a genius, and she's pretty sure there's something up with the out-of-order coffin in the command-room.

At least Ritsuka is pretty sure when they reach the throne-room, and Tamar this time is wearing something plainer over her colourful robes from before. She checks the throne room first, and then beckons them in, and Ritsuka tries not to feel like she's skulking. Especially while carrying a pail full of embers, or something. Whatever it is she's carrying.

When they get through the doors the throne-room isn't exactly  _ empty _ , but the guards on the other side are on the other side, and through the open doors, and there's really nothing at all odd about all this, nope. Tamar goes to clean some things on the other side, where she can keep an eye on those doors, while Nancy sticks with these ones; and Ritsuka turns her attention to the throne. And almost stumbles.

"Oh my God," she breathes, as low as she can manage, because she can't  _ not _ . "Oh my  _ God _ , I wish I could get a picture of this." The throne itself actually is twice as high as a man is tall, all inlaid and gilt and studded with precious stones, with wings flaring the back of the throne and  _ eighteen _ steps flanked by animals, just like Roman had described. It's the most horribly, wonderfully garish and ornate thing she's ever seen -- and she's visited Uruk! She fumbles under mantle for her phone, and manages to snap something down by her hip, without being able to check for the quality.

"Right?" Kate looks at the thing, and Ritsuka wishes she had a face to see. She'd really like to see that, right now. "I guess it's stylish, for the times, judging by the Egyptian exhibits I've seen. Too many frills for my taste."

"I wonder if I can get a picture of the mechanisms," Ritsuka murmurs, eyeballing the throne thoughtfully and imagining Da Vinci's reaction. She'd be more interested in its workings, probably, but Da Vinci also appreciates an aesthetic; and there's some parts of the throne which look like they could be kitty-corner to the same style Da Vinci uses. What with the gilding and the precious stones, and all.

"You might do. Here, stand there. Right there." Kate leads her to the brazier by the base of the throne nearest to the wall, where coals are burning low, and Ritsuka holds up the pail while Kate uses tongs to transfer new coals into the plate. Makes Ritsuka glad there's so many warrior types around to make sure she's keeping up on her training, because carrying a full pail one-handed is  _ tiring _ . With the other she sidles a bit behind the throne, trying to get a look behind.

Also, try to take a picture one-handed. This is important. Just in case. It's a backup, for when things go wrong. And blackmail, for when they all get home. All of them.

"Got it yet?" Kate mutters.

"Almost." Ritsuka stows her phone and holds the pail out while she gropes behind the throne. Doctor Roman had said only the six steps closest to the throne were important; all the others had a lion and an eagle. "Bull, lion, wolf, sheep, panther, camel, eagle, peacock, wildcat, cockerel, hawk, pigeon ..."

It's a muttered litany with the cadence of an incantation, as she touches joints in the back of the stairs which limn with light as if in recognition. There ought to be a clunk, or  _ something _ ; Ritsuka's ears are half-expecting it, and all the gears and movements in the back sure look like they should. Instead there's just a small hum, and a plate descends the long length of the stairs as silently as Ritsuka could hope for.

"Next brazier," says Kate, and Ritsuka pulls back from the throne and switches arms holding the pail; and just like that they move casually along the length of the steps until they reach the plate, sitting patiently on the edge at a man's comfortable table-height right next to the brazier on the end. The ring sits in the centre, innocent and shining gold. All Kate has to do is reach out and take it; but she fills the brazier first, ignoring that the ring is there.

There's something -- weird about it, Ritsuka thinks, brow furrowing. She's trying not to stare, or at least not stare in a way that's not hidden by the scarf -- but there's something  _ really weird _ about it. Usually when she gets close to grails she can tell; they have this weird almost gravity-warp. Then again, Ozymandias had held a grail and she hadn't known until he chose to reveal it. It's entirely possible it's magically shielded by presenting as a ring. That would be the  _ point _ of it appearing as a ring.

Ritsuka doesn't like it. It feels like the throne-room is holding its breath, and she's pretty sure that's not just the tension.

Kate finishes filling the brazier, puts the scoop back in the pail, and as she turns in a shrouding billow of her robes her hand scoops the ring off the plate. It's an awesome gesture. It's so casual and not at all suspicious.

Except:

Except the ring flares angry-red and Kate drops it without even a sound, even though Ritsuka can see on her palm the perfect circle already blistering with heat and that looks like it  _ hurt _ . The walls shake and some _ thing _ laughs, all echoing in the walls and ceiling; it's a horrible laugh, long and derisive, and not even in the warm way Gilgamesh or Ozymandias did. Ritsuka backs away from the throne, gripping the pail because that's probably a decent weapon; Kate backs away with her, arm out protectively.

"What --" Nancy starts at a carrying hiss.

"That wasn't a grail," Ritsuka says, all cheerful calm despite the fact her heart is pounding so fast she feels sick. "Time to go."

" _ Go _ ," Kate hisses as the walls start bleeding shadows, and phantasmals shape themselves out of the ooze, a twisted mimicry of the mosaics that had been on there originally. She reaches into her robes and withdraws an old-fashioned pistol. "Go before the halls get blocked!"

"You as well," Tamar orders. She's only made it halfway across the hall before guards start banging on the doors she'd barred with a stave through the handles; and as the phantasmals solidify she plants her feet and raises her hands. "Go, Kate Warne. I rebuke thee, in the name of my Holy Father, on ground consecrated by my holy brother; I repel thee, o creatures of darkness, with the light of my Lord and Saviour --"

Light shines around her whose origin Ritsuka can't tell, and her words segue into the hum of divine magic, and the hissing of enraged phantasmals.

"Come  _ on _ !" Nancy grabs Ritsuka's hand and yanks her through the open doors, and Kate slams them shut behind, lodging another stave in the handles. Light beams through the seams of the door, but Ritsuka doesn't get to see what happens to it, because Nancy yanks her down the hall.

"I really hate leaving people behind!" she screams, because it's the only way to be heard over the sound of that horrible laughter and the shouting, and the clank of weapons and armour. Faceless soldiers come around the corner and Ritsuka drops the pail to spread her fingers and call --

" _ Tell us a guiding tale, Nursery Rhyme! _ "

Nursery Rhyme's book explodes in the air between them, jutting ice toward the soldiers before anyone can actually attack. It works pretty well, judging by the screams; but Ritsuka can't see anything past the ice.

"This way!" Kate yanks on Nancy's sleeve and Nancy yanks on Ritsuka's wrist, and they peel off into a corridor to the side while Ritsuka snatches at Nursery Rhyme's spine to bring it with. That awful laughter finally dies.

"Plan, please!" Ritsuka calls.

"Safe place first!"

"Sure, if it exists!"

"This way," says someone else, and it's definitely not any of the voices Ritsuka knows because it's a man, and a man's hand beckoning from one of the halls. Kate changes course to follow the gesture and they barge under an arch onto a set of stairs leading up to the rooftop. There isn't a lot of room for them all, but they squeeze past and the man steps out into the hall, motioning them to be quiet behind him. There he stands, feet planted, while Ritsuka covers her mouth and tries to breathe more quietly through her fingers, and running footsteps come closer, along with shouts.

"Uriah! Where are the invaders?!"

"None have passed here," answers the man at the base of the stairs. "I'd have seen them."

"Then they turned down the hall before this one. Stay here! Guard the stairs!"

Footsteps hurry off into the distance and the man stirs, turning up the stairs toward them. His face is as blank as the other phantom spirits, under his helmet; but there's something about the name that's ringing bells in Ritsuka's head.

"You're Uriah?" she asks, trying to jolt that thought loose. What is it, where is it ...

He looks at her, in as far as phantom-spirits can 'look' when they have no eyes. There's something about the shadows. "I am the subject who was betrayed by his king."

That is  _ no _ help at all, and kind of alarming. She'd heard his name -- they'd all heard his name! Why  _ wouldn't _ he answer to it?

"Why did you help us?" Nancy asks over Ritsuka's shoulder, sounding much less breathless, owing to not needing breath.

"There's someone here I want to save," he answers. "If you save her, I'll help you escape from the Temple Mount."

"Sure, why not," Ritsuka says with a shrug, and the easiness of her answer leaves a startled pause in the air and three faceless gazes trained her way. "What? Don't look at me like that. Save a person and escape in one go, what's not to like? Escapes should always be so straight-forward."

"It's a safer bet than me trying to get you out alone," Kate agrees from somewhere higher up on the stairs, "and one of the soldiers will be a much better distraction if anyone stumbles on us. Okay. Where are we going?"

Uriah turns down the hall. "This way. This hall should be clear."

"Won't anyone notice if you're gone?" Ritsuka asks, easing her way down the stairs. Her legs ache from the running followed by sudden stillness, but they work more smoothly as she stretches them.

"I can say I was pursuing the invaders," Uriah says simply, and leads the way as they come out of the stairwell, down the hall away from the sounds of the calls of the palace guards.


	14. Her son's mother

Several times, Uriah has them stand aside, behind drapes or inside rooms; and most often, as he can, he hides with them so no one asks why he isn't at his post. Only once must he speak, and then it's to a peer, not a superior, easily fooled by his claim to be pursuing a noise. Ritsuka tries, in one of those quieter moments, to radio Doctor Roman: but only a squeal of static answers, and she has to turn it off. They'll just have to navigate the palace on their own.

It seems to be a short distance made that much larger by having to be careful; but Ritsuka is pretty sure all the furnishings are getting richer and richer as they move.

"Where are we going?" she asks, quiet while she has a chance and they're paused for Kate to peer around a corner.

"The harem," answers Uriah simply, and Kate pulls back with her mirror.

"There's still two," she says, "and there might be more inside -- these are the doors to the king's quarters, not the harem at large."

"Definitely Dad's underwear drawer," Ritsuka mutters, and flexes her fingers. "Okay. Leave these two to me."

Oh, butts. It's been a while since she's done  _ proper _ incantations -- but Doctor Roman and Da Vinci both agreed she should stop taking shortcuts, at least while she's here and cut off from Chaldea's power. If her Servants rely on anonymity, she needs to enforce the anonymity in the summoning to get through the gate. Nursery Rhyme kind of speaks for itself, but the Hassan ...

Words. What are words. Doctor Roman had helped her mock up a few incantations while the planes were being prepared, but Ritsuka's way too used to just calling names and a jaunty greeting, and relying on Chaldea's summoning system for the rest.

"'It doesn't need to be perfect as long as it reflects your intent and you don't stumble on the words,'" she mutters as a reminder, because that was what Roman had told her, and he would know. She stretches out her hand and chants: "O holy men of the mountain, anonymous leaders of their peoples, I summon you to give me aid from shadows --  _ Hassan _ ."

Uriah makes a small noise and Ritsuka can't tell if it's disgruntled or recognising, and anyway, it's not much of an interruption. Her hand throbs with a shine of red light and shadows shift along the hall and the guards come alert; then first one collapses and the other whirls, and then that one collapses too, and Ritsuka doesn't get to see much more than a flash of cloak and a mask.

"They really are kind of terrifying when I can't tell which one it is," she says thoughtfully.

"Useful, too," adds Kate. "If I open the door, will he -- they -- them? Can the Hassan take out any guards inside?"

"Most definitely."

"Great." Kate rushes out in a flutter of linens, stepping over the first of the bodies like a dancer, and opens the door just a smidge -- just enough for someone to slip through. Ritsuka almost blinks and misses the moment when shadows and cape slide in; and she definitely doesn't hear anything from inside. Then a hand slides through the gap, gloved in black and with loose sleeves, and beckons.

"We really could have done with some of them at Pinkerton's," Kate muses, and goes in first with her pistol in her uninjured hand. The others slip in the crack with Uriah bringing up the rear, and by that point Kate's already at the far door, checking the entrance to -- wherever. Probably the harem, Ritsuka guesses. She's trying not to get too distracted by looking around at these rooms; it isn't a bedroom, but a short hall with chambers off it, and one of  _ those _ is a bedroom. She can see drapes and gauze, and a bed bigger than anything she's seen even in stores.

"Dad's underwear drawer," she reminds herself, and turns away from that doorway to follow Nancy to the next door, by which point the guards are already on the floor and Kate's rifling through their clothes, taking some easily-concealable knives. Hassan, when Ritsuka looks around, is nowhere to be seen.

"Harem's through here," Kate says, indicating the half-open door behind her. "I hope no one in there's liable to attack us."

"We don't have much choice," Nancy points out, but it's Kate who goes first, and the rest follow with Uriah bringing up the rear. Ritsuka may only be so-so at reading the expressions of people with no faces, but his head keeps turning and she's pretty sure he's nervous.

"Who are we coming to rescue?" Ritsuka asks in undertone. Behind the door is another hall, because she supposes the actual chambers can't be right up against each other: but it's only the doors to the king's actual chambers which are guarded, with the benefit of someone watching the harem's entrance.

"The Queen Mother," answers Uriah, and  _ now _ the story behind his name comes to Ritsuka, and she groans quietly.

"Oh -- damn it."

"Have you a grudge against the Queen Mother?" Uriah's voice is sharp.

"No, no -- I just realised your whole ... thing, that's all." She ducks through the door Nancy holds open for her before he can ask, and unexpectedly comes almost face-to-face with another person -- someone who isn't Kate. She blinks. She likes to think the phantom spirit, or soul, or whoever, also blinks, but it's hard to tell. Then she looks around at the harem's entrance, all of comfortable sofas and cushions and drapes and incense; and a set of stairs leading to a landing where she can see beds past secured curtains, and halls leading off to the sides which probably lead to separate rooms or buildings -- for what, Ritsuka can guess, and isn't sure she wants to.

This is a harem? It looks kind of like what some places on the internet thinks an orgy-room would look like, and wavery for it, like it can't decide how hard it wants to go at the perception.

Not that Ritsuka would know, and not that she's bribed Anderson into changing the parental locks on her internet access. Ahem.

"Uh ..."

'Seven-hundred wives and three-hundred concubines', the Bible said, which she figured had to be an exaggeration; but there sure are a lot of figures in the room, quietening as they realise someone's barged in, and Ritsuka only hopes that's because there's fifty-odd years of ruling for the Singularity to have picked from. Otherwise there's still  _ a lot more wives and concubines _ here than she really wants to think about in conjunction with Doctor Roman.

"Hello," says Nancy calmly. "We're looking for the Queen Mother, please."

A few of them look, a few of them point; one, emerging from an adjacent and more private corridor, comes closer, head held high and wearing clothes reminiscent of Nitocris and Cleopatra.

"The Queen Mother's chambers are this way," she says, and turns as if expecting they will follow. Definitely some kind of royalty. Then again, a lot of Solomon's wives had been, hadn't they? Political marriages. Ritsuka has to wonder how much --

Nope. Nope, she is not thinking that, nope.

"This is awful," Ritsuka whispers to Nancy.

Nancy looks at her sidelong. "Why? We're making good time and unless this is a trap, we're about to find the person we're here for."

"Because I'm in a  _ harem _ belonging to a past life of a guy I gave a Father's Day card to a year ago!"

Nancy's lack of face stretches in a way that  _ has _ to be an invisible grin. "That sounds pretty bad for you, yep."

"I hate everything," Ritsuka mutters as they head up the stairs to chambers cordoned off almost into their own building, and larger than the rest. The Egyptian wife pauses by the door and motions them to enter, which is damn suspicious except that Ritsuka really doesn't know how harem courtesy works. Maybe it's rude to enter another woman's room.

Also, she is just  _ not _ going to think about why Solomon's  _ mother _ lives in his  _ harem _ , thanks very much.

Maybe she'll ask Doctor Roman. When the others around. So she can watch him splutter. That'll be a good start on her revenge for all this.

As they enter Uriah lets out a cry and makes a sudden motion as if to rush forward, but restrains himself. Within the main sitting-area, where windows overlook gardens, there's a woman -- someone whom Ritsuka can't tell is phantom spirit or soul, just like the others. She's robed and and seated, though she turns to face them as they enter.

Since the Temple of Time Ritsuka's gone through and compared pictures: Doctor Roman with David, trying to tell if there's something she just hadn't seen. And Roman  _ did _ look like David, in the pastel shade of hair and his lankiness, and the errant curl.

It hadn't occurred to Ritsuka that the doctor might also look like his mother: but here she is. Even with the greyness of a phantom spirit's tone Ritsuka can tell her skin is dark; it's something in the shade of grey. She's learned to pick these things up. Just like she's picked up the occasional flashes of colour phantom spirits can exhibit, like red highlights in hair that's otherwise dark -- or is implied to be, by shadow and shade. 

Most of all it's the hair, though. The length of it, almost to floor; the body and texture, all thick and fluffy. Solomon really does look like his mother.

Kate bows, unaware of Ritsuka's staring. "Queen Mother Bathsheba. We're here to rescue you. I don't suppose you're willing to leave? It'll put a crimp in our escape plans if not."

"I cannot," answers Bathsheba, and her voice is lower than Ritsuka would've thought. She rises from her seat and it's only then they can all see the chains around ankles and wrists, leading to a block of stone near the wall of the bedroom -- chains long enough to give her the freedom of her own chambers, but nothing else.

Oh, that's  _ not _ on. Ritsuka snaps to. "No problem."

"Tell me you have an unlocking spell," says Nancy.

"No, I never focused on my studies enough for that." Ritsuka circles around furniture to examine the chains. It looks like there's only one lock, and it's in the stone rather than on the manacles. It seems more symbolic than anything. "But this whole Singularity is a story of loneliness, right? A  _ story _ . There's always keys in stories. Always." Her voice is a lot more confidence than she feels, but -- well, why wouldn't there be? Shakespeare and Anderson have pontificated about it often enough; and Sherlock had told her some stuff about not being sure what's real and what's true, with how there's no way to tell if the oldest legends really existed. In which case, it's really the story that matters.

It's maybe not what he meant her to get out of it, but that's what she'd heard. "If there's keys for locks, that means there's something we can use to unlock these; we just have to find it."

"I don't think we have the time to deduce those kinds of motivations," says Kate doubtfully.

"And we can't exactly go back and try to steal it," Nancy adds.

Nursery Rhyme quivers under Ritsuka's arm. To be honest, she'd almost forgot she was even holding the book. Now she lifts it, and opens the cover, and jerks her face back from the whizzing rush of pages. Last time she hadn't been fast enough, she'd gotten a paper-cut on her nose.

The pages fall still, and on it is drawn a perfectly life-size replica of a skeleton key, and Nursery Rhyme's idea clicks together in Ritsuka's head in a fashion which makes her wonder whether her inanimate Servants actually  _ can _ be telepathic. Ritsuka beams down at the book. " _ Great _ . We'll get the chains off with this!"

"A drawing?" Bathsheba asks, quietly doubtful.

"It's a story," muses Nancy, "answering a story. Nursery rhymes -- providing guidance. I see; that's useful. No wonder you keep lugging it around."

If books could hiss, Ritsuka's sure Nursery Rhyme would. As it is, the tome just rustles its pages belligerently, snapping them a little in Nancy's direction.

"It's a skeleton key," Kate says with interest. "Can you get it out of the book? I saw the doctor making things out of thin air while I was at the temple. "

"Sure I can."

She hopes. Da Vinci's lessons on item creation lean more on the engineering and mathematical side, and while Ritsuka's no slouch, a lot of Da Vinci's enthusiastic tangents take another genius to keep up with.

Ritsuka takes a deep breath, marshalling her thoughts. Words. Words are very important for incantations. As long as they reflect her intent, and she doesn't stumble ... She takes another deep breath and lays her hand over the image, and looks intently at it, imagining the sheen of metal and the roundness of its haft under her fingertips, and the way it would feel when inserted into a lock.

"Skeleton key, made of soft iron, I bid you exist in my hand with malleable form, yet solid enough to turn a lock; your purpose is but once, then never more, made to liberate that which is bound:  _ shape _ ."

'Shape' is maybe not the best word, really, but it's all that comes to mind; and she can feel the hum-buzz of power in her fingertips, and the soft rush of energy through her -- like adrenaline, but with the sensation of sherbet. When she lifts her hand from the page it comes with a skeleton key fitted, and she closes the tome and kisses its cover. "My hero."

Nursery Rhyme quivers and rustles its pages in what Ritsuka assumes is happiness, and Ritsuka tucks it back under her arm and presents the key to Kate. "If you please, Detective."

"Neat work, that," says Kate with admiration in her tone. She takes the key and bends to find the lock, fitting it with a grunt to force the soft metal to shape as it's inserted: then she twists and the lock clunks open, and when Kate wrenches chains out of the block they fall away from Bathsheba's limbs and body, dissolving like they'd never been there. She lifts her arms and exhales, and Ritsuka hears the shakiness in it.

"Right," says Nancy briskly, "where's the best way to escape from this place?"

"The window," says Bathsheba at once, moving toward it with a rustle of much fabric.

"Are you going to be able to move with that many -- oh, never mind." Even as Ritsuka asks, Bathesheba reaches up to pull off the layers of her robes until finally she's only in a simple linen shift, easy to move in. Her only addition is to snatch up a sash to pull around her waist.

"Uriah." There is a warm note in her tone as she says the name, turning finally to him and holding out her hands; and the way that Uriah stirs from where he's standing, where he's stood silently unmoving since they entered, gives Ritsuka the impression he's having to catch his breath. He withdraws a knife from his belt and gives it to her, still sheathed, to stow in her sash. Even as she does it, her head stays turned toward him, and resolutely Ritsuka turns away, to Kate peering through the window from an angle using her mirror.

"We might have a problem," Kate observes. "They're in the garden." She stows her mirror and starts pulling off her robes. "Well, this is where I get off."

"What?" Ritsuka demands. "What are you talking about?"

"Someone has to distract them, and soon enough they're going to walk into the hall between the harem and the king's chambers and realise the guards are down. I'll lead them away while the lot of you climb out the window." Kate nods toward it, wadding up her linens to drop them in a corner. "I hope you'll be able to get to an escape point from there?"

"Yes," says Bathsheba. "Thank you."

"Wait --" Ritsuka begins, and Kate rests a hand on her head and ruffles her hair, the shadows around her chin quirking in a smiling way.

"Don't worry about it, Miss Master Ritsuka. This is my job, after all. Wotcher, all."

She salutes with two fingers and heads out of the Queen Mother's chambers, and Ritsuka joins Nancy in peering through the window at angles. It's a bit of a drop, but not much of one: only two storeys. If it weren't they probably wouldn't be able to look out without being seen. As it is, they see the moment Kate gets their attention, sees soldiers rushing off toward the entrance to the palace at cross-angles from them; and although they leave a guard at the door, he's too distant from this part of the harem to see anyone dropping out of a window.

"I'll hold my spear down," says Uriah, "and you can drop from it. Will that do?"

"Yeah," says Ritsuka grimly, fighting through the way her throat tightens and the ache in her chest. She really,  _ really _ hates having to leave people behind; but more than that, she hates being left behind herself. It's unfair.

Nevertheless, that's how they escape: dropping one by one down into the garden, with Uriah heaving himself through the window and scaling the wall mostly on the merit of pure strength. Then, as shadows, they fade into the darkness of the trees.


	15. A headlong rush

The garden's darkness is heavy and Ritsuka's mind is not on navigating it at all. That's mostly why she almost steps on the lion as they run between trees.

"Ritsuka!"

Pure habit has Ritsuka dodging before she knows what she's dodging, and the lion's paw swipes where she'd been standing with a rumbling growl. Equally instinctive, Ritsuka flings Nursery Rhyme in the lion's face, and with a crack of ice and wailing yowl the lion rushes off -- at least to the second tree distant. From there he slinks, growling thunderously, warning.

"I thought the animals were asleep," Ritsuka says shakily, reaching down to pick up Nursery Rhyme. The tome snaps its cover in the lion's direction, and doesn't resist being carried again.

"They  _ were _ ," agrees Nancy, and the ground trembles under them. "What's that?"

"He is very angry," Bathsheba answers softly, and her head is turned toward the palace, more distant than it was. "He's realised we've escaped, or will shortly, I think."

"_Who _ is _ he _ ?" Ritsuka demands, "because I swear to  _ God _ if I have to fight Goetia again --" Bathsheba's head turns sharply toward her, but Ritsuka cuts off mostly because of the lump suddenly constricting her throat and the tears burning her eyes, and the phantom smell of singed wood and metal in her nose. She shakes her head violently. "Just -- later. Tell me later; let's get out of here right now."

She really doesn't like that faint tremble in the ground. It seems like a harbinger.

"This way," says Uriah, soft but urgent, and they follow. He takes them to the edge of the palace grounds and the yawning stretch of emptiness which ought to belong to the temple, and doesn't. There's shapes in the darkness which could belong to pavilion or reconstruction, but Bathsheba angles toward the edges of the mountain instead, where walls are built into an aqueduct or sewer.

"Here," she says, pointing into the long stretch of darkness that is a tunnel stairwell leading past rushing spring. "This leads to the Pool of Siloam."

Nancy makes a recognising noise. "This is the other end of that aqueduct. I know where we'll be going."

She jumps down a couple of the stairs and Ritsuka's about to follow; but Uriah's shadow shifts and she freezes, whirls. He's walking back.

"Uriah?" Bathsheba asks softly, and he shakes his head.

"I cannot leave the Temple Mount." He sounds -- absolutely miserable about it, too; so miserable it makes Ritsuka's throat tighten again. "I'm bound to be here, and nowhere else."

"Serving the king who betrayed you?" Nancy asks, but Uriah shakes his head, and Nancy doesn't get a chance to ask for clarification. Bathsheba moves toward him, hands lifting to cup his face and kiss him deeply; and for the first time Ritsuka can actually see the features of phantom spirits, illuminated by inverse shadows and the warmth between them. She looks away, cheeks hot. Some warning there would have been nice.

Damn it, David. She's going to give him  _ such _ a talking-to when they get back to Chaldea.

If either of them say anything, it's in a low enough voice that it skates by Ritsuka's ears as Ancient Hebrew, and therefore not something she understands to begin with. She only looks back when she hears Bathsheba moving toward them.

"Are you gonna be okay?" Ritsuka asks Uriah.

"I will see if I can find Kate Warne, or Princess Tamar," he answers, grimly resolute. "If you --"

There's a shout in the darkness and Uriah whirls, and Ritsuka sees shadows coming from the trees, and tugs Bathsheba's arm. "Go. Go,  _ let's go _ ."

She scrambles further down the steps, after Nancy, and only glances back when there's a more comprehensible shout, all furious at the man still on the surface. "Uriah!  _ Traitor! _ "

Uriah sets himself, spear-point angled toward them. " _ My king betrayed me first _ !"

"Ritsuka!"

Ritsuka turns back around and plunges into the darkness of the tunnel, following Nancy and the spot that's her flashlight. Behind her is Bathsheba, close-by and silent; and further back, there's shouting and the clash of steel.

"How are we gonna stop them from following?" she asks before she's too winded to talk.

"Run now, questions later," is Nancy's only response.

The ground shakes and Ritsuka stumbles but doesn't fall or stop her descent, and she realises the shiver in Nancy's flashlight isn't only because she's moving.

"Being underground during an earthquake seems like a really bad idea!"

Not that it stops her from picking up her speed, as much as she can given the steepness of the steps.

"That isn't an earthquake," says Bathsheda, breathless behind them, and the walls vibrate, and something splits overhead. Ritsuka ducks as dust and debris rain down -- nothing large enough to really hurt, but definitely enough to be an alarming warning for what's about to come. "Run!"

"This seems like a really bad idea!" Ritsuka screams as she ups her pace again, to something  _ entirely ludicrous _ given the stairs and the curve in them, with Nancy's bouncing flashlight ahead and Bathsheba's long stride behind. Something cracks again in the walls, and there's a vibration that prickles Ritsuka's skin and puts her heart in her mouth; a bad sounds which sets every nerve alight.

It could be laughing.

It could be screaming.

And there is  _ definitely _ a voice, throbbing in ears and pulse and like icepicks behind Ritsuka's eyes, and spearing through ground and stone like water-pressure injected into all the seams of the earth.

_ "I'm coming for you, unforgotten king of Israel." _

With an almighty groan the ceiling of the tunnel starts giving way, and Ritsuka puts Nursery Rhyme over her head as large pieces of debris bounce off it. Ahead there's the dull less-dark shape of the exit, and Nancy shoots out into daylight; but sheets of dust and debris cascade from the roof, and Ritsuka's heart is pounding in her mouth, and her legs burn with the need to  _ move faster _ .

There's a breathlessly inarticulate cry from behind, and even at the speed she's going Ritsuka  _ tries _ to stop, to turn and see if Bathsheba's okay. Instead something collides with her from behind and arms wrap around her, and they both go tumbling out of the shattering remains of the stairway onto the hard tiled ground beside the Pool, wet from water sloshing as the earth quakes. Ritsuka rolls out of Bathsheba's arms and pushes herself to her hands and knees, wheezing and coughing in the dust.

"Nurs--"

"I've got it, it's here." Nancy's voice is quick, and Ritsuka looks up through soggy bangs to see Nancy reach down for the tome before it jolts into the air of its own accord, flapping its covers frantically and spraying water everywhere.

Okay. That's one. That's one and one, that makes two, and  _ shit _ Ritsuka's body hurts. She coughs again and crawls to Bathsheba, who's at least stirring -- so, not dead or dissolved yet, but alarmingly close to the pile of rubble that was the stairs up to the Temple Mount. "Bathsheba?"

"I'm alright," says Bathsheba, soft and shaken but  _ answering.  _ She pushes herself halfway up and then stops with a swallowed cry, and reaches back for her hair pulled taut. Ritsuka leans over her to see her hair caught in the rocks and rubble.

"See, this is why you and your son are insane for having hair this long," Ritsuka tells her. "Although I hope he doesn't cut it and when we get home I'm absolutely going to demand to put my hands in it at every opportunity. Right now, though, d'you still have that knife? I think I'm going to need to cut it."

The implication of the shadows on Bathsheba's face wars between a smile and pain; but she reaches for the knife in her sash and hands it to Ritsuka. "By all means."

"Hold still, keep it taut." The various and sundry warriors had made Ritsuka do some basic weapon-handling, so she's careful and practiced if not graceful as she turns the knife around and cuts, careful to avoid Bathsheba's neck. The tension in the hair mostly does the work for her, but there's a few bits she has to pull tight herself; and in the end Bathsheba's hair curls up at the ends and bounces back to settle just past her shoulders.

"Okay." Ritsuka hands the knife back and gets shakily to her feet. Her knees tremble but hold, which is something to work with, but she lets Nancy take her elbow anyway. "Ow. I think I skinned a few things."

"No wonder, that was a pretty decent dive. We'd better hurry, though."

Nancy's eyes are skyward, and Ritsuka finally follows her gaze. If the sky had been dull day or grey night beforehand, now it's neither: now it's boiling with shadows and limned in red light in scales, the look of thousands of phantasmals filling the air. Most of them are wyverns, because of  _ course _ they are; and now that Ritsuka's listening, she can hear roaring somewhere over the lip of the pool, and screams in the streets.

"Great. We need to --" Ritsuka turns toward the other path, the narrow sewer-duct that had led up to Doctor Roman's temple, and stops. It's just as collapsed as the one they'd just come down, with water trickling through cracks; and now Ritsuka looks down at the edge of the pool there's water gathering over the ledge, a slowly growing puddle. No wonder she's damp.

"Crap," Ritsuka mutters, and submits to Nursery Rhyme's insistent nudging to pick up the tome and hug it to her chest. "Hassan, are you around?" A shadow appears on the lip of the stairway, all cloaked and black except for the white skull's mask, and then turns and strides away. "Okay. Let's follow the creepy skull-face. As quickly as we can."

"Agreed," Nancy says grimly, heading to the narrow stairs set into the side of the wall to make her way up to the street. "Mulan and the colonel might be nearby -- if we can we should try to make contact and ask for their help getting back to the temple."

"As long as we get back, and  _ fast _ ." Ritsuka doesn't know what the hell she's going to do against a jinn which tricked King Solomon once before, but  _ damn it _ she is  _ not _ leaving him to have to deal with this alone again. No way.

Bathsheba's hand is an unexpected thing, landing on Ritsuka's shoulder with a squeeze, and when Ritsuka glances for a moment all she sees is smooth jawline and hair tied off graceful neck into high ponytail, visibly fluffy with almost-red highlights, even in a phantom spirit's shades. Ritsuka has to look away again, squeezing her eyes shut. Even then, when Bathsheba moves past her to climb the stairs after Nancy, all Ritsuka can see in her silhouette is Doctor Romani -- at least until she turns. The shape of boobs under linen really helps to dispel the illusion.

Turns out, Roman looks like his mother no matter what body he's in; and isn't  _ that _ throwing Ritsuka for a loop.

She takes a deep breath and follows them, and though her legs stay shaky they're solid  _ enough _ to work with -- solid enough to reach the temple. She hopes. There's already bodies in the streets, but she can't tell whose they are, with the different eras represented by both sides; but there's a moving shadow on the corner which has to be Hassan, and so they make for him. He doesn't wait, but moves on as he sees them approaching, darting from one street-corner to the next, with Nancy not far behind.

The further they go, the more the sounds of battle become obvious, and it isn't long before they reach the barricaded intersection. The barricades are in pieces, and a manticore leaps snarling from around the corner before Ritsuka can really take everything in.

"Watch it!" Nancy shouts, but there's flashing knives and Ritsuka flings Nursery Rhyme at the same time that she ducks and rolls. Between Hassan and a blast of ice the manticore shrieks and twists away from the attacks, and rushes up a different street instead. Ritsuka hears a scream and shudders, and swallows hard.

_ Not Uruk, _ she reminds herself. This definitely isn't Uruk.

Nowhere is as bad as Uruk was, except maybe Camelot.

"Are you well?" Bathsheba asks, reaching down to help her up, and Ritsuka nods, breathless.

"I was just here earlier," she says lamely, and without looking around at the shapeless debris. Some of them are probably bodies. She doesn't want to look.

"Come on," says Nancy grimly, picking Nursery Rhyme out of the air. "I think Colonel Kudasheva is this way -- I can hear her shouting."

"Lead the way." Ritsuka looks up at the sky as she follows. The phantasmals would be blotting out the sun, if there was one; and she can see the sheets as they plummet to the streets, and rise again with or without prey in claw. An awful lot of them seem to be congregated around the hill where Doctor Roman's temple is, and there's a -- a  _ shape _ in the darkness, one visible mostly in the cracks. When she looks toward the temple, she can't even see it for the phantasmals in the way.

They hurry up the streets, not nearly as cautious as might be wise. Probably none of them can bear it, with urgency and adrenaline driving them onward. Twice Hassan and Nursery Rhyme fend off beasts, just enough to make the beasts decide to look for easier prey -- and there is much of it. Doors hang broken from jambs, window shutters torn asunder; Ritsuka tries not to look at the ground, and keeps rasping breath steady, and follows Nancy onward.

Soon enough even she can hear the shouts of orders, in Russian but overlaid with understanding, the way all the Singularities have been. They come around a corner to a barricade even bigger than the one Ritsuka had seen this morning, and behind it the snarls of phantasmal beasts and the mockery of the Clockwork Oranges. In comparison the forces on this side seem small, and quiet: but grimly determined, stacking supplies and barriers, and driven onward by the woman on the horse pacing back and forth behind the lines of defenders.

"Colonel!" Nancy runs toward her and stops short of hoof-range, waving while Ritsuka lags and tries to get her breath. "Colonel Kudasheva!"

The horse wheels and settles, and Kudasheva spots them. "Nancy Drew!" she shouts, and even shouted it's almost covered by the sounds beyond the barrier. "I hear your investigation has been proceeding apace! Report!"

"We need to get to the Master's temple," says Nancy, "as quickly as possible." She points back at Ritsuka. "We've just come from the palace."

"From the  _ palace _ ?" Kudasheva demands, and hooves clatter on cobbles as she urges her horse closer, to look down at them with narrow eyes and an imperious motion of her pistol. "Explain! Who is this? What did you find?"

"This is the Queen Mother," Nancy starts, and Ritsuka cuts in, moving ahead of her to look up at Kudasheva from next to her foot.

" _ Listen _ . The real king is in that temple and he's being attacked, and if that temple falls, so does the rest of the city! Do you want us to stick around to fill you in, or for us to get up there so we can fill  _ him _ in?!"

"The real king, hm?" Kudasheva echoes thoughtfully. "So, that's why he looked the same ..." She falls silent, examining them all with sharp eyes; and finally her gaze falls on Nancy and she nods. "Very well. The streets from here to the temple are filled with the enemy: they have cut us off in several places. We are arranging a charge to attempt to combine our territories. If you ride Mongolka, you may be able to cut through."

She swings her leg over and dismounts the horse, and Ritsuka looks at him with doubt. "I'm not a very good rider ..." Crap, what other choice does she have? The only problem is -- "All three of us won't fit."

"He's a smaller horse than I'm familiar with," says Nancy, surveying him with a critical eye, "but he looks sturdy, and I'll bet he can take two. I'll stay behind, then."

"What? No!" The words explode out of Ritsuka before she can really stop them, and Kudasheva lifts her eyebrow.

"There cannot be doubt in war," she says severely. "If the Queen Mother must be returned to her son, and you are the true king's spy, then only you two must go. Nancy Drew will remain."

Ritsuka hisses through her teeth, hating that she's right, hating the awful sick twist in her chest and gut, and she whirls around to pace a wide circle behind the barricades before finally spinning back, motioning violently at Nancy. " _ Fine _ ! But then you'd  _ better not die, _ you hear me?! I'm  _ sick and tired _ of having to walk forward knowing who I'm leaving behind!"

"It's not any better than  _ being _ left behind," Nancy reminds her, and the shades of her facelessness shift toward a smile. "Besides, it's not like I'm real in the first place, am I?"

"Real enough," Ritsuka shoots back bitterly, "to anyone who read your books and loved you. That's it, that's all I'm going to say.  _ Don't die. _ "

Nancy's face stretches a little more. "Got it. Now you'd better figure out your riding boots, because if I'm not mistaken, we've just moved up the timetable."

"That you have," says Kudasheva briskly, handing Ritsuka Mongolka's reins. "Prepare yourself, young lady. The battle soon will rise."


	16. Thy will be done

The radio crackles as Ritsuka disconnects, and Romani sighs, tapping the radio against the palm of his hand. "Ah, I'm really not good at this part."

"You do fine," says Da Vinci comfortably, all obnoxiously cheerful. "That or you made a good show of pretending otherwise, and I'm not sure you're  _ that _ good an actor, speaking as someone who's known you and watched you in person during 'this part'."

"I fooled most of you," Romani grumbles, because that's just not fair.

"Oh, please. You were practically shouting it from the rooftops in Okeanos."

Those are things Romani really doesn't want to talk about, or people he particularly wants to think about, currently. He shakes his head, pacing back and forth before the doors to the Holy of Holies, behind where base-camp has been set up. Base-camp is now a circle of tangled wires and equipment which Hopper and Hedy are currently attending just as attentively as the staff in the Chaldean command-room no doubt are. Around the rest of the temple are others -- refugees and helpers, priests who care for the temple.

Back and forth, back and forth. "You mentioned something about demons who escaped."

"We can talk about that later," Da Vinci demurs. "Suffice to say we're taking care of it. Without the Association's help, of course. They've cut off funding while they figure out what's been going on, and decide whether or not we did something appallingly unethical."

Romani almost laughs.  _ Appallingly unethical _ . Yes, because saving the whole of human history can't be enough. Instead he sighs and shakes his head. "I wish I could say I'm surprised. You're working on the funding from the UN, then?"

"Yes, so some things have been a bit tight."

A bit tight, and probably none of them have really gotten a break, if they've been going after remnants all this time ... damn it. This isn't what he wanted,  _ or _ intended.

The whap of the radio against his palm makes a staccato counterpoint for his footsteps on timber flooring, and he's not totally conscious that he's being watched until Nathan says, all pained: "My king, please -- please sit."

"Hm?" Romani turns and Nathan is there, nudging a chair for him. Probably placed there a while ago, to boot, and Romani just never noticed. He's the only one with a right to a chair, with such limited resources, though he'd just as soon give it up.

The smile he gives Nathan is likely just as pained as Nathan's request. "Ah, does my pacing bother you, Nathan?"

A name he didn't think he'd ever speak again, let alone to its owner's face; his chest constricts and it's a familiar sensation. It's been a familiar sensation since he arrived here, to these people. To his people. Even with their features obscured by -- well, obscurity -- it's them. It's still them. Still Nathan with the robes and the staff, and the resigned-amused headshake, and the gusty sigh.

"Frankly, my king, it does. The sight of you so worried is, to be specific,  _ worrying _ ."

Of course it would be. Of course it would. The tightness in Romani's chest twists, guilt adding to wistful grief. "I'm sorry," he says, and it comes out softly contrite as he'd never been with Nathan, because as a child blessed of the king of Israel he'd never  _ had _ to be contrite. "I can't. I'd only sit there in my nervous energy, and then where would we be?" He tries to smile, and pat Nathan's shoulder, and he's not sure how it comes out except that it makes Nathan stir. "Believe me, I'm not unaware how strange this must be for you. For all of you."

He turns his head to catch Zadok's eye. His high priest has been standing quietly by, taking the care of his priests as he always had, and yet ready to leap to his king's bidding. Romani's not used to that, anymore; used to being the final word, yes, but not to the readiness to spring into action at a glance, at a motion. It's become unnerving.

"We can endure, my king," Zadok assures him, because of course he does.

"If you don't mind me asking, Romani," Da Vinci interjects, and she goes on without waiting for a response as to whether or not he  _ does _ , in fact, mind: "who else is there, from your court?"

"Ah, a number." He turns to cast a fondly wistful gaze across the temple. "Most of them you wouldn't recognise, but some are mentioned by name. Nathan, of course. Zadok, my high priest. Benaiah, the head of my armies, is also here, but he's attending to the defence of the temple's courtyards."

There's an expectant beat. "Is that all?"

"All who's in the temple, yes."

"What about Tamar?" Da Vinci asks, and Romani freezes, even while he's berating himself that he really ought to have expected that. They've been keeping the transmission line to Chaldea open, so they can hear at least Romani's side, if not Ritsuka's staticky responses. "She  _ is _ of your court, isn't she? You weren't just saying that. Otherwise she wouldn't have the wherewithal to help Ritsuka."

Romani's throat works, and it takes some effort, but he manages to answer, softly and a little rough: "Yes, Tamar is of my court."

He knows Da Vinci's waiting for further explanation, but he -- he can't. He just can't. He gazes out through the doors of the temple, and the looming greyness of the horizon past the courtyards, and waits for his chest to untwist itself, for his throat to unlock. 

Finally Da Vinci figures out that he's not going to answer more than that, and says brightly: "Ah, by the way, there's something I've been wondering. Do you have your clairvoyance back? It would be useful."

Ah, this isn't much better. Still -- a little. Romani huffs and shakes his head, forgetting for a moment the lack of video. "No. This place is cut off from the Root, remember?"

"Yes, that's why I was wondering," Da Vinci answers with perfect composure, and a surge of fond gratitude almost closes Romani's throat again. If she knows, there's no reason to ask, except for it being the first thing to spring to mind. "Of course, I suppose you wouldn't be nearly so worried if you knew how things were going to turn out ..."

Romani huffs again, and there might be a sound in it; but he's not sure if that sound is a laugh or a sob. "No. Precisely. I can't tell anything -- I don't  _ know _ what's going to happen." Absently he rubs his knuckles, and it's still an oddity, to lack the smooth cool bands across his fingers. "Theoretically, I should. My clairvoyance wasn't given by the rings; the rings just put it into some kind of order. But it came from the Root, and without that access, there's nothing for me to see." He turns, only to smile apologetically at Nathan. "That's why it must be so unnerving for you ... for once, I can't tell what's going to happen."

"Pity," Da Vinci mutters. "It would have been  _ very _ useful."

"To be honest, I'd rather be left in the dark."

It's an unthinking response, and it makes Nathan exclaim. "My king!"

Romani grimaces again, and rubs thumb across knuckles, and consciously stops doing that by tapping the radio against the heel of his palm again. "Ah, forgive me, Nathan; but it's true. As difficult as it is for you now, I haven't forgotten how difficult it must have been for you back then, either."

"My king was not  _ difficult _ \--" Nathan begins, all of indignation, and Romani shakes his head, smiling with wry sadness in it. He can feel it there.

"Ah, but I was. Maybe not in the usual ways, but I was. I must have been horrifying to be around when I was young. A boy my age, always knowing everything? That's beyond obnoxious. And even if I never doubted, I must have been so demanding ..." He's thought about it a lot, since he was reborn. How it must have been like, for people to see him, to watch him. Not even a prince's arrogance can account for the simple acceptance of knowledge he had carried ... the secrets he'd told.

_ Cruel, but honest. _

"And it must have been especially terrible for you," Romani goes on without quite meaning, his tone thoughtful and gaze distant to the courtyards through the open doors, and even  _ knowing _ that he's even now acting much as he had as a king, he can't help it. He isn't clairvoyant; but deep thought and memory can hijack someone's voice just as easily, it seems. "After all that you and my mother sacrificed to raise me, and to save me --"

Nathan rouses, and there would have been a sound accompanying, but Romani goes on without looking properly over. "Yes, I said save me, Nathan. Do you think I'd have lived, if my brother had become king? At least my father wasn't so full of himself as to reject the truths I spoke." His vision seems to be blurring. If it had rainbows in it, he might think it's a vision, but it doesn't. "And Tamar ..."

Now his throat is closing again, but the words don't stop. He's not sure he could stop them if he tried, not for clairvoyance taking over, but for the simple fact of words too long locked away in his heart. "The fact is ... I never thanked any of you. For your service. For your faith. For your trust. I didn't even know that I  _ should _ . I can't imagine how hard that must have been ... to serve a king who couldn't even love you ..."

"My king ..." Nathan's whisper doesn't seem to have a direction, and there's something in his tone which very much makes Romani want to not have to turn to look at him. As if Romani would be able to see him anyway, because his vision is really very blurry.

"That's why I wouldn't take my clairvoyance back," he continues, and now his voice is thick with tears and the lump in his throat. "The fact is -- that I didn't even know what love  _ was _ ."

There's a quiet beat of heavy silence while Romani's voice fails him, and he draws in some deep breaths, even for the count. Counting had worked, once upon a time, though it's something he hasn't had to use since the first couple of years after his rebirth.

Then it's Zadok who asks, very quietly: "Do you now, my king?"

Ah, does he. Romani's throat tightens to the point of pain, and he looks up to the temple's ceiling, at the woodwork and engravings, at the scrolling praises and blessings overlooking the worshippers forever. His heart beats hard and aching in his chest, until it feels as if it's his pulse alone which drives the tears; his pulse attached to the solid rock of grief he had tried to avoid feeling.

It's hard when things start refusing not to be felt.

It's hard when he closes his eyes and in the darkness sees starspun galaxy past throne and light and the silhouette cast by still-standing shield, edges scorched but intact -- but for the girl who should have been behind it.

"Yes," he manages after a moment, and that feels like he's having to drag glass up through his throat. "There was a girl ..." There's static on the other end, but no words. Maybe a breath. How long has it been, in truth? Chaldea would still be grieving Mash too. "I raised her." He laughs a little, and it's a ragged sobbing laugh. "I feel a little bad, actually ... How many children did I have, and I couldn't love any of them? But Mash was --" His throat closes again, so he has to struggle to get the words out, to  _ explain _ . "She was my patient. I was her doctor. But she was -- so alone. And she was dying. And I couldn't help her ..." His voice cracks on the last. "And she was the first person I ever loved."

And he couldn't even save her. Even though he'd gone into medicine, to help people -- he'd  _ chosen _ that, and the person who'd become most important to him ... he couldn't even save her. Even though he tried, tried keeping her back out of the danger, tried to talk her out of what he  _ knew _ she felt was her duty ... even though he felt like a coward for trying to talk her into being one herself.

"Romani --" Da Vinci sounds sympathetic and -- something else. Something alien in her voice. It's past compassion; it's --

Contrition?

"Romani, there's something you need to know about Mash."

But there's something staticky about the connection, like there's noise and movement in the background; and Romani's ears are buzzing already, with his heart and the tears and the tightness in his chest and throat. He can't tell what it is. Even when someone speaks, teary through the static but forceful with emotion --

"Doctor, I'm  _ here _ . I'm -- I'm still alive."

\-- Romani can't quite hear them through the roar.

But he recognises the voice.

His knees weaken and fail, and it's only by Nathan's speed that he sinks into the chair into of to the floor. There's a sound -- a twisted sound, like a sob, like a laugh, and Romani's hand rises trembling to cover his mouth, because that sound is coming from  _ him _ . And that voice keeps talking.

"I mean, I -- I might have died, but something saved me. It healed me so I'd live a normal life, and sent me back to where we leyshifted into the temple. I thought it might have been Merlin, but he says it wasn't him, so -- but I'm fine, Doctor. Really."

She's fine. She's  _ fine _ . Mash is alive. Romani presses his hand more over his mouth, but that doesn't really stop the sobs, though their cause now has changed.

Mash is alive.

"D- Doctor? Please don't cry! Doctor?!"

Oh, no, Mash definitely sounds frantic. Romani takes a deep shaking breath and swallows back sobs. His face is as tight as his chest and it's not because of tears; it's because of the smile. "I'm -- I hear you. I hear you, Mash ..." His voice breaks then and it doesn't matter. Whatever's inflating inside of his chest aches around the edges, but mostly it just seems to big to be contained. "I am ... so very,  _ very _ glad."

Mash is alive.

Mash is alive, and ...

And he won't get to see her again. Romani closes his eyes and exhales tears shakily. Ah; so that's where that ache is coming from. Joy  _ and _ sadness. What a perfectly terrible combination.

"Ah, Mash ... I'm so so--"

"Don't you dare apologise to me, Doctor Roman," Mash interrupts severely, and that makes Romani laugh, soft and tearful, because he just can't help himself. "What are you apologising for, anyway? All you ever did was try to protect me. And I know that you did your best ... and you protected Senpai, in the end. That was what I really wanted. And now I know ... how you felt ..." His cheeks are starting to hurt. So are his eyes. But that's fine, because it sounds like Mash is starting to have trouble talking too, so he's not the only one. "Thank you, Doctor. For everything. I love you too."

It's really completely unfair, how a few simple words can reduce him to this, how they can fill him with warmth fit to burst, until even the ache around the edges seems inconsequential.

"Ah, I don't know what I'm meant to say to that now ..." He's smiling too hard to figure it out, even as he tries to wipe his face. "And you're making me look bad in front of my subjects, you know?"

"Oh, I doubt that," says Da Vinci warmly. "It's easy to love someone when you know they love you. That's what you were trying to say, wasn't it, Romani? That you wouldn't take back the clairvoyance, because it means you wouldn't be able to tell them how much you really do love them, no matter how much you couldn't tell them before."

Romani puts his face in his hand and laughs, scattered and soft, but lifting and joyful. He really doesn't remember laughing much at all, when he'd been alive the first time, and certainly now his doing so makes Nathan stir and draw in a breath. "Leonardo ... what would I do without you to translate for me?"

"Suffer through a myriad of misunderstandings, most likely," Da Vinci answers cheerfully. "It's just as well you don't have to suffer anymore, isn't it?"

Romani has a response to that, really he does: but something in the ground quivers and fondness cuts off for a sharp inhale, and the dying of the warmth within. Romani gets to his feet before he's aware he has, pushing coat and pauldrons off his shoulders in favour of moving toward the doors. Out in the courtyard --

Shadows are shifting, and greyness is dimming, and there's a shiver in the air which makes Romani's heart catch.

"Romani?" Da Vinci asks, but Romani doesn't answer in favour of clicking on the radio, and the jet of static makes him flinch, so he has to turn it off fast.

One of Benaiah's guards rushes in, panting as though he's run the whole length of the courtyard. "My king! The sky!"

Romani doesn't have to reach the doors to see it, the way darkness rises in the distance, to match the reverberation in the floor. "Zadok," Romani says sharply, "get everyone inside! Everyone that can be held by the temple!"

"Understood, my king."

"Doctor?" Mash sounds alarmed, through the static; and the static is the biggest way to tell there's interference happening, even if not the nature of it. Romani opens his mouth to answer and then doesn't have to.

_ "I'm coming for you, unforgotten king of Israel." _

More than one person cries out, and they're all people of Jerusalem, all people who've heard that voice before -- or one like it. Romani contains his shudder only through pure habit, the desire not to let his people see: but his breath catches in his chest for it, and the soles of his feet ache as if he's walked over coals for listening to it. It isn't the kind of voice to be heard only with one's ears.

"What was that?!" Mash cries, and the words are only audible for the fact that they're so simple: static bleeds in and out, turning her voice into snow.

"Asmodeus," Zadok whispers, somewhere behind Romani's shoulder.

"No. That wasn't Asmodeus." Someone pretending to be, maybe. And that means, most likely, that Asmodeus himself will be here soon. Romani exhales slowly, and squares his shoulders.

"Scramble the planes," he commands the guardsman. "There'll be wyverns in the sky. Make sure they're mindful of the temple's airspace. Have someone warn the people in the city to watch the streets, and  _ stay indoors at all costs _ . Maria!" He turns and Maria's already next to him, tufts of bleached-sandy hair stark against dark skin: the very image of an urchin of Jerusalem. "Go into the city," he tells her. "Find Ritsuka. Make sure she gets behind a bloodied door."

"Okay." Maria bobs her head and heads toward the doors, pulling her ragged cloak's hood over her head.

"Senpai's still okay," Mash reports, riddled with static. "Her heart-rate is up, so she's running --"

"Nursery Rhyme and Hassan are summoned," someone adds in the background, barely audible.

"What happened?" Da Vinci demands. "We detected no grail nearby, did we? She was still on the approach!"

Romani doesn't hear the response to that.

"They're coming!" someone calls out from the temple doors, sounding terrified but resolute, and Romani takes a deep breath, and raises his hands to the floor, and speaks a long litany of words.

His people need him, he reminds himself. He can manage. He's managed before. Even without clairvoyance -- he's managed before. Benaiah and his men can fight off the physical phantasmals, the ones even now filling the streets; he can hear them and feel them, more than see them, like paw-prints on his soul. Amelia and Maureen and the other pilots may be able to handle the wyverns, if they're careful to stay in protected zones.

But Asmodeus, and the other demons --

The temple stands based only on Romani's will.

His incantation is a long stream of Ancient Hebrew, reaffirming the temple's existence, strengthening its walls and its courtyards; and every word is one that turns the temple's constructs into something that feels like his own flesh, so that he can feel the people in it, and the rustling of wings against his skin.

There are -- so many phantasmals -- out there.

He's not sure how he's meant to hold, against so many, when there's only his words and the walls of his territory between them ...

And the body of Asmodeus rising like smoke from a conflagration, choking the air and turning even grey light to darkness. He's the kind of presence which makes the breath of the world catch, when unhidden by the boundaries of an enforced illusion; and in this place which is Romani's territory, the world is him. His incantation stumbles, but proceeds -- frazzled and uneven.

_ "I see you, wretched king," _ Asmodeus says, a voice threading through walls as if they're paper. From within the confines of the temple, whose walls are bared to Romani like the gossamer strands of a spider's web, Romani can see that force lift its clasped fists and bring them down on the temple; and then he  _ feels it _ , a thunderous blow which makes his knees buckle and drives his breath from him with a cry.

_ Ah, so this is how it ends; surely this is the Will of the Lord _ , thinks that detached part of him with no sense of struggle nor awareness of hope.

The rest of him thinks of a still-smoking shield, upright and unyielding; the cross borne by the heart of a girl whose will stood strong.

No. He  _ will not be that person. _ No longer!

Romani grits his teeth and catches himself before his knees can hit floor, though his entire body shakes with the effort, bent over and hands braced on thighs while he drags in a breath. There's screams around, and his name called in alarm; and he can hear the chanting of his priests, though what little force they can exert isn't nearly enough in the face of another blow from the king of demons. Even now Asmodeus's fists lift, the confines of the temple crumpled and wavering. Another blow will break it; but for Asmodeus's need to taunt.

_ "Do you see how weak you are, wretched king?" _

Such irony. He's always been weak, when stripped of everything granted to him. He's  _ tired _ of it.

_ "If you bow before me, King of Israel, I'll spare you witnessing the fall of your people." _

He's really been out of touch with human history ... Israel has fallen, and fallen, and fallen; and always, its people rise. Another breath and Romani pushes himself upright, conscious of his heart pounding in his chest and throughout the cracking walls of the temple, and the way his limbs are shaking. He locks his knees and lifts his head to Asmodeus's silhouette cast through the wavering roof.

"In all this time, Asmodeus, I've bent my knee to only one: and  _ your name is not His _ ." Romani's voice rises, from meek to impassioned, and he stretches out shaking hands, calling magic to him,  _ through _ him; calling out past boundaries of walls and city and Singularity. "O my Master, hear me beseech thee; I stand upon the land consecrated to my Lord and Saviour; I am thy humble servant, hear my prayer. Shore up the walls of thy house gifted to thee, my Master; support this flimsy house we offer in thy name, that thy will be done. We lift our hands to thee, o King of Kings, for thine are all the powers and dominion of the world; we lay bare this holy city to thy will, for surely all the goodness of the world flows from thy hands ..."

Magic resonates on his tongue, in his limbs; in the walls of the temple reforged, slamming up like stone and metal, reforming as if cracks had never been. Asmodeus snarls and Romani doesn't hear it; not through the rising hum of magic, rushing through his circuits, bathing floor golden in the light of his tattoos set ablaze. Not through his voice, lifting and vicious in its resolution, fuller and fuller on a building crescendo.

"Send thy loyal messenger of death, my Master; smite our foes, defend thy people in our moment of weakness. We submit to thee, o King, that we may sing thy praises; for thine is my kingdom, and all thy blessings rain down upon us. I beseech thee, my Master, heed thy servant's plea; in thy holy name I commend myself to thy will, my Master --  ** _ YHWH. _ ** "

The name burns in his mouth, in his throat, and the spell snaps. Behind him the doors to the Holy of Holies slam open, and the rush of power takes him like a burning flood; and he submits to it without a fight, as his Master's Authority strikes the world.


	17. His Master's Authority

"Does anyone else hear that?" Ritsuka asks in a hushed voice -- as hushed as it's possible to get with the sounds of battle barely ten feet away.

"The earthquake?" Nancy asks.

"No, I mean --" It sounds like there's a voice in the tremble of the earth, rising and falling. Ritsuka shakes her head. "Never mind."

"Are you ready for this?" Nancy asks, eyeing her sidelong, and Ritsuka forces a smile.

"Not in the least."

She moves around the side of the horse, cringing a little at the smell and the general ... horseness of it. The saddle is colourful, or would be if not for the dull greys of phantom spirits bleaching it; and as horses go Mongolka isn't very tall. Even so Ritsuka needs Nancy's hand and a heave to get her leg over the saddle. Bathsheba barely needs the crate she uses, to get up behind the saddle.

It'd been even odds, which of them gets the saddle; but Ritsuka had taken one look at how she'd have to sit without it and refused. There as no way she was going to be able to stay on, perched like that. The saddle's front and back are high, and she's not likely to fall off: and neither's Bathsheba, once her arms are around Ritsuka's waist, with Nursery Rhyme between them. At least Mongolka doesn't seem too distressed at having strangers on his back, though he peers around at them as if wondering what his master was thinking.

With a hand on the reins Nancy pulls him around to face where the barricades will go down, where Ritsuka and Bathsheba will have a straight shot down the street, toward the temple. It won't be one street the whole way: but it's their best bet of getting the distance. 

"Ready," Kudasheva barks from atop the barricade, her sword already drawn. There are nods all over, and she slashes the air with her blade. Ritsuka closes her eyes, biting her cheek. Oh, shit. Oh, shit oh shit oh shit.

"Fire in the hole!" cries one of the Caracals, and there's a boom and even through closed eyes a blinding flash; and the sound of timber buckling. Manticores shriek and Mongolka rears, and through the ringing in her ears Ritsuka hears Nancy shout.

Haunches surge and Mongolka bolts forward rather than any other way, through the opening in the barricade made for them. Ritsuka hangs onto the saddle for dear life, her knuckles white around the reins, and when she dares to open her eyes to slits all she sees are buildings streaking past and everything with a dusty haze. A boar stumbles across the street, tossing its head and shrieking for the flashbang's impact. The sound Mongolka makes is more like a shriek than a whinny, and makes goosebumps erupt on every part of Ritsuka's skin: but he doesn't stop, doesn't falter, only leaps the boar and keeps running in a mad panic.

As long as they're running in the right direction --!

Ritsuka forces her eyes open properly, though there's a part of her that'd  _ really like to keep them closed _ , if only so she doesn't have to watch the impending crash. There's a split upcoming and Mongolka's veering off, and with a wrenching drag that makes Ritsuka wince she pulls the horse back on track, down the next street.

"I hate this!" she yells, without caring whether Bathsheba can hear or not. She  _ hates _ doing things to horses that look super uncomfortable but without the training to do it right. 

"Above!" Bathsheba shouts in her ear, and Ritsuka looks up and then ducks over Mongolka's back as a wyvern swoops low. Its claws almost catch in Ritsuka's hair, and instead strike a building behind them: but Mongolka finds new energy from that and pelts onward, his eyes showing white around the edges and flanks heaving.

_ Crap, _ Ritsuka thinks,  _ how are we gonna get him to  _ stop _ ?! _

There's a definitely a voice sounding now. It's like the bass of a too-loud song, thumping in her chest with her pulse; a long stream of words too rooted in the language being spoken for her to be able to hear what it is. It's probably Ancient Hebrew; but the voice is too deep, too resonant, too full of power to tell whose it is.

Something crashes up ahead and Mongolka leaps it to continue running, but his hooves clip the top and he stumbles as he lands, and Ritsuka feels the jolt in her pelvis and all the way up her spine, and the way Bathsheba tilts. Something leaps out of a cross-alley and Mongolka shies; Ritsuka catches black cloak and daggers flashing and that's  _ it _ , because her heart's suddenly in her throat and she kicks frantically at the stirrups to get her feet out, having visions of toppling off and being dragged along the uneven road.

The horse veers and they both tumble off, straight into a bed of crystal which looks like it should be hard and cold and instead gives under them like cushions. Ritsuka rolls and staggers to her feet, breathing hard, and picks up Nursery Rhyme where it lays, open in the middle, where Bathsheba had flung it.

"I really hate horses," she manages. "Are you okay?"

Bathsheba gets to her feet with a lot more grace, pushing hair off her shoulders.

"Behind you," she says sharply, and Ritsuka whirls with tome outstretched; and she really can't tell whether it's Hassan's daggers or the eruption of ice from Nursery Rhyme's open pages which impale the ghost first: but either way it vanishes in a wail and a wash of cold air.

"Thanks," Ritsuka says, and takes a deep breath to even her tone out a bit. "Okay, uh ... How far do we have to go?"

"We can't be far," says Bathesheba grimly, pointing toward where the darkness is thickest, where wyverns are writhing like a cloud of locusts. Every so often Ritsuka can hear the splutter of plane engines, so they must be close. "But how we're going to reach it with so many foes about ..."

"We'll reach it on foot. It's not like we have a choice." Ritsuka arranges Nursery Rhyme in her arms to be pointed forward, and looks around for Hassan. It's hard to feel magic like this, with words thudding like bass in her body. It's better than bass in her ears, she guesses, but instead of making her ears hurt it's just making her magic hard to feel. Even the link to Nursery Rhyme, in her arms, wavers like ripples in the water.

"... Crap," she whispers, because she can't feel Hassan at  _ all _ . "Hassan?"

Even the name tastes like ashes, and the command seals on the back her hand throb like a muscle overtaxed. She hisses at the pain and blinks away the tears, and in the blurriness of her vision there's phantasmals slinking down the street toward them from the direction of the temple. Manticores and -- handlers, yep, those are definitely skeletons. " _ Crap _ , crap, crappity ... Nameless archer, hero of the faceless masses, come to my aid, if you please,  _ Emiya _ \--!"

Oh, thank God. Command seals surge and flare with light. In the act of a manticore beginning its run-up to pounce Emiya erupts into existence, blades in hand, to cut its throat in a long slide of limbs and body collapsed to the street.

"Clear the way, we're heading to the temple!" Ritsuka shouts to him, already running past. One of the skeletons swipes with its blade and she ducks, twists and yanks open Nursery Rhyme's pages in a long build of crackling ice.

"Understood!" Emiya vaults the manticore's body, stowing blades for bow, and in a flurry of arrows the skeletons fall, and Ritsuka keeps running, glancing behind only to make sure Bathsheba is following. "What's that voice?!"

_ Oh thank God, _ someone who can actually  _ talk  _ to her! "I have no idea, but it's really starting to get on my --"

"Master!" Ritsuka's in a headlong rush around the corner when Emiya appears from the side, bodily shoving her away and taking a lance-thrust scraping past his hip with a long hiss of pain. Ritsuka hits the ground with her shoulder, rolls, shoves Nursery Rhyme open into the air, and lets a crystalline jet of ice do the rest. She hears shrieks and brittle bones cracking, and when Nursery Rhyme quivers and flutters its pages Ritsuka closes the tome with a groan.

"Emiya?"

"Still here." Still here and looking very displeased about having his vest ripped, from the straight line of his mouth; one of the skeletons down the line of the street takes the brunt of his ire with a thrown blade. Bathsheba kneels by Ritsuka and helps her to her feet, and Ritsuka gulps down air. Sometimes she really wishes she didn't have to worry about things like breathing or energy.

"Ah, damn it ..."

At Emiya's voice Ritsuka lifts her head and sees, down the street, a long clatter of skeletons and ghosts swarming the intersection. She takes a deep breath and braces herself, and Emiya does the same, standing between them in the middle of the street. In the pound of heart and wings and feet, the voice in the ground rises, reverberating through air and flesh and bone: and  _ now _ Ritsuka can hear the words, all rolling with power.

"I beseech thee, my Master, heed thy servant's plea; in thy holy name I commend myself to thy will, my Master --  ** _ YHWH. _ ** "

The ground rocks and throws Ritsuka down. In the distance, the roiling cloud of shadows erupts in golden light brighter than anything in the Singularity so far; and even from a distance, Ritsuka can hear the wyverns screaming as they dissolve. For all its brightness the light isn't blinding, and when Ritsuka looks -- she can't  _ not _ \-- she sees through the dissolving cloud a demon's shape, striking down at the temple with a thunderous roar made hollow in contrast to the sound of the voice just before.

From the temple's doors rises a swath of light and shapes that might be wings, and catches the demon's fist on a shining blade -- and its arm -- and its chest, riddled through with sword. The demon's dying shriek makes Ritsuka shudder and cover her ears; but she doesn't look away, because in the light and the way it cascades, she sees for a moment ragged-edged cloak turned gold and the fierce visage of a face so filled with light that it turns molten-white along the hollowed lines of the skull under it.

Holy  _ shit _ .

" _ Pay attention, Master! _ " Emiya bellows, and Ritsuka snaps back to here-and-now, and the skeletons rattling with undead indignation as they charge down the street. First one, then two, then four, drop under the barrage of Emiya's arrows -- but he's not going to be enough alone. Nursery Rhyme is struggling in her arms; Ritsuka flings it toward the fray and its covers snap open, and Emiya ducks the curling flames that roar over his head.

Bathsheba seizes her shoulder. "We need to get inside," she says urgently. "We must get inside, now!"

She points to the temple and the way the figure in the light is dissolving as a crashing waterfall toward the city.

"I don't --" Ritsuka glances around wildly and Emiya shouts, and Ritsuka ducks the sword that whistles past her. The skeleton bowls over under the force of a dozen thrown knives, and a small figure in a ragged cloak fills the gap.

"This way! Hurry!" Maria bolts down the street into an alley, and Bathsheba picks herself up to follow at a run.

"Go," Emiya commands Ritsuka, sweeping his sword through two skeletons consecutively and spinning on his heel toward the bulk of the rest blocking the street, his shadow spinning gold motes. " _ I am the bone of my sword; so, as I pray  _ \--"

Maria bowls through a door with blood-stained lintels, rolls, and is on her feet beckoning at the jamb as Bathsheba passes. " _ Hurry _ !" 

Ritsuka glances back at Emiya, hisses under her breath, and snatches for Nursery Rhyme, sprinting for the doorway as the street turns cold and metallic. She ducks her head as she dashes through the doorway and Maria slams the door shut behind her, and braces herself up against it like her small body might hold. Ritsuka spins still clutching Nursery Rhyme, her gaze skirting the startled terrified family huddled against the far wall.

_ "Unlimited Blade -- _ "

Outside there's a rushing sound, like wind or water coursing inexorably through the streets; and in the doorframe light surges. Emiya's voice cuts off and Ritsuka gasps for the feel of his summon cutting off, like her heart's been yanked out of her chest. Bathsheba's arms come around her shoulders as her knees buckle; they sink to the ground together, and Ritsuka buries her face in Bathsheba's shoulder while the house rattles around them, and the light outside whispers past the doorway with the sound of delicate silver bells.

The light fades. The rattling eases. Ritsuka trembles and breathes, and mostly manages not to let air catch on anything; but she really, really hopes that Bathsheba isn't going to comment on the fact her shoulder's damp. Her heart's pounding like she's just woken up from the worst nightmare. It was like ... like Lobo in the streets of Shinjuku, except that the wolf's howl was not for her.

But still: it howled.

Or chimed, as the case may be.

"I think it's done," Maria announces after a moment, and Ritsuka lifts her head, her arms still clutched around Nursery Rhyme.

Shit. She's still got tears on her cheeks. Well, everyone else is just going to have to deal.

"Is the street clear?" she asks, and her voice is calm. That's something, at least. She can work with that.

Maria throws open the door and steps out, and Bathsheba follows; and, after a moment, Ritsuka struggles to her feet as well. The street outside is silent as a grave, though not empty: piles of abandoned bones sit collapsed where they'd fallen, and a manticore's corpse lays sprawled wedged in the corner. When Ritsuka glances back it's the same: all corpses, untouched by weapon.

In the distance the temple shines, and there's wreathes of light around it, as if gathering. It takes that long for Ritsuka to realise the reason the street seems so empty is that now she can  _ see _ it, beyond just dull greys. When she looks up to the sky, the sky is likewise dull: but she can see the clouds. It seems more like it's overcast, than there being a lack of sun. There's even a hint of bleached colour to the stone of the buildings.

No wyverns.

No shadows.

No demons forming. Just the sky and the clouds.

"Come on," Maria says, motioning with sharp impatience from under her cloak. "Daddy's waiting."

She sets off down the street at a fast clip, and Ritsuka takes a deep breath, and wipes her face, and doesn't resist when Bathsheba takes her hand to follow.


	18. Humanity's tales woven

Without any battle or crowds of people filling the streets, the way to the temple seems like a short distance. Ritsuka's feet hurt, and her breath is a bit raspy; and mostly she just feels vaguely  _ shocked _ . Her chest hurts, but she can't tell if that's because of the way Emiya had been discorporated for the aching fear that Nancy and Kudasheva and the rest hadn't gotten inside in time.

They must have. Surely they must have. Caracals all around, and when Ritsuka had first arrived most of their doorways had been lined in blood. They'd been warned, they'd been ready. They must have gotten to safety in time.

Except -- as they turn a corner where the temple's stairs have inserted themselves, there's a crashed plane still smoking in one of the buildings nearby, and no way to tell whether a wyvern had brought it down or whether its pilot had died mid-flight, unprotected.

Ritsuka looks away, and misses Mash with a fierceness that only makes her chest ache more.

When they reach the height of the stairs the light has faded somewhat, but there's still an implication of golden motes wafting in through the doors of the main building. No one stops them at the courtyard gates: planes sit silent and untouched on stone, without having even been put into the air. Maybe the one that crashed  _ had _ been brought down by a wyvern, just outside the doors of safety ... Ritsuka hopes. She hopes.

The sight of the temple galvanises them somewhat, so that when Bathsheba's pace quickens, Ritsuka doesn't resist being tugged. Maria runs ahead, a streak of ragged black which sees oddly-placed now everything is brighter; and her speed adds to their own. The last of the light tucks itself into the temple as they race to the entrance, passing far more refugees than there had been before; some stunned, some whispering, some weeping for -- whatever they saw.

Streamers of light pass overhead into the doors that are at the back of the temple. Through those doors Ritsuka sees the billow of gauzy white veils and the solid shape of golden Ark, less imposing now it's seated where it should be. For just a moment the braziers cast a shadow long across the temple's floor in front of those doors, tall and masked and with the silhouette of a ragged cloak smoothed only by armour; it looms so large that for a second Ritsuka doesn't even seen Doctor Roman.

Then she does: he's on his feet but  _ barely _ , bent inward with a ring of smoking floor all around him, and a wisp of smoke rising from his hair. Ritsuka's heart pole-vaults into her mouth as the shadow recedes, the doors to the inner room closing with the soft knell of a thud, and Doctor Roman topples.

"Doctor!"

Her panicked shout is matched by Bathsheba's wordless cry, and both of them lunge toward him.

One of the other phantom spirits gets there first -- one of the men who'd been lingering listening around the base camp when Ritsuka first arrived. He catches the doctor and lowers him gently, and Ritsuka throws herself to the floor next to them both, dropping Nursery Rhyme and reaching anxiously for Roman's hand. Her heart stays in her mouth up until she sees his chest rise with a breath; then she exhales shakily, and it's at least half a sob. She really doesn't care right now. Really really.

"Queen Mother!" The phantom spirit holding the doctor sounds startled and scandalised in equal turns as Bathsheba kneels beside them.

"Is he --?"

Roman opens his eyes, and tries to smile. It's a faltering smile, and Ritsuka swallows when she sees the blisters on his lips. Not just there, either -- the hand she'd reached for looks red and raw around his tattoos, and there's a definite lingering scent of burning flesh.

"Are you going to be okay?" she demands anxiously. "You're not allowed to die again! It's not fair!" Awkwardly Roman pats her hovering hand, and his smile is a bit stronger still. It only makes Ritsuka feels worse, that he feels the need to hide his pain. As if he could, when the burns are so readily evident -- just from speaking a  _ name _ . What about his tongue? What about his  _ throat _ ? Is he burned on the inside too? Is it bad? "So -- you're gonna be okay, right? You're not gonna die?" He nods, and the hand around Ritsuka's heart doesn't ease all that much. "Is that yes you're gonna be okay, or yes you're gonna die?"

She might be babbling. The look he's giving her is definitely Doctor Roman's fond exasperation, even on King Solomon's face. Ritsuka pats his hand back, very carefully. "Not gonna die. Right. Make sure it stays that way."

There's a shriek static from the base-camp and Hopper shouts victory. "Communications are back up!"

"I'm gonna go talk to Chaldea," Ritsuka tells Doctor Roman, and waits until he nods carefully before she picks up Nursery Rhyme and heads over to the circle of electronics that is their camp. Mash's voice is frantic through the static.

"Doctor?! Are you okay?! Is everything okay?!"

"We're okay, Mash," Ritsuka tells her, feeling suddenly very tired. She sets down Nursery Rhyme and sits, pulling her knees up to her chest to wrap her arms around them.

"Senpai! You're safe!" Mash's relief doesn't quite hide her anxiousness. Ritsuka really can't blame her for that. "What about Doctor Roman? We heard the attack, and part of the incantation, but then ..."

Ritsuka's heart gives a particularly hard beat, but it's the sort which is lacklustre compared to the terror from just before. Maybe it's too tired to be really afraid again for a while. "Is everyone over there okay?" Her heart gives a somewhat more enthusiastic lurch. "Is Emiya?"

"No one's hurt on our end," Da Vinci says briskly. Lamarr leans over the equipment to fiddle and slowly the static clears up, until Ritsuka can hear vague noises in the distance, of the technicians calling out to one another. "That's the good news. The bad news is that the FATE system is completely fried."

Ritsuka's heart flops over and decides not to move for a while. "Fried how?"

"Don't expect Chaldea to be able to help you sustain a Servant, that's how," Da Vinci answers. "You've still got Nursery Rhyme, right? You probably won't be able to summon anyone else -- you're stuck with just one Servant, the way Masters usually are during Grail Wars. I suppose now we know why the Israelites put so many euphemisms between them and saying God's name ..."

Roman grunts and it twists into something alarmingly like a whimper, and Ritsuka's half unfolded before she's aware she is.

"Don't try to  _ talk _ ," she scolds him, but he motions again, more determinedly. "What? You want to be over here?"

Roman nods, and the phantom spirit supporting him twists very slightly. "Zadok, I require your strength."

One of the phantom spirits nearest, the one instructing all the others and with more ornate robes, comes and bends to pick up Roman. He's very careful about it, but even Ritsuka knows there's really nothing to prevent the quiet sound of pain the doctor makes, even if it makes her wince. She scrambles to make room next to the base-camp, and Zadok lays him gently down near enough to listen, if not participate. Bathsheba, walking ahead, kneels to put her knees under his head, and Roman blinks up at her with a furrowed brow and pained comprehension.

His lips move, but no sound comes out; and Ritsuka looks away from the tears which come to his eyes at the sight of his mother.

"Queen Mother, please," says the first phantom spirit, sounding a bit pained. "You are in your underclothes."

Oh, boy.

"Queen Mother?" Da Vinci murmurs.

Bathsheba doesn't even look up. She's too busy stroking back Roman's hair, and moving it gently away from anywhere that seems singed. "Nathan, I have no other robes; unless you think I ought to thieve one from the impoverished masses at the door who will surely go naked for my comfort, or declare myself queen at large by using my son's royal coat, you will simply have to suffer not looking at me."

Even without them having faces, Ritsuka sees the male phantom spirits wince.

"Given the circumstances, Queen Mother," says Hopper briskly, "any right-minded son would be willing to lower himself to offer his mother his coat, if the alternative is to have you in front of a room full of people in your undies."

The coat she retrieves from the chair nearby is the one Solomon had been wearing, sans the pauldrons; and when she puts it over Bathsheba's shoulders, Ritsuka is for a moment caught by the comparison between her with her hair up, and Doctor Roman's human body. It throws her brain for a loop when accompanied by that coat, and she cringes.

"All settled, then?" Da Vinci asks through the static fuzz Lamarr can't quite get out of the transmission. Roman opens his eyes to look at Ritsuka and nods.

"He's nodding," Ritsuka informs Chaldea. "I think he burned his tongue. And ... everything. He's finding it hard to talk." The face Roman makes, with the little nose-wrinkle, doesn't look quite as sulky as a king than it had while he was a doctor, and Ritsuka's grin is shaky but genuine. "He's pouting at me."

Mash lets out a long staticky sigh. "Oh, good. What about healing? Do you have healing over there?"

"He'll be fine," Da Vinc interjects before Ritsuka can look around. "You're in the temple, right? It's his Territory. It's very difficult to kill a mage in his own Territory, especially without collapsing it first. He'll heal."

Roman nods at Ritsuka and manages a small, pained smile, and Ritsuka slumps with an exhale. "Okay. Good. That's -- really good, cos he's singed pretty much everywhere and I remember magical circuits being damaged as a  _ really bad thing _ ."

"My king," Zadok murmurs, passing a piece of slate and a stylus down over Nathan's shoulder, and Nathan holds it for him while Roman fumbles with the stylus. His writing is shaky and scrawling, and when Ritsuka leans to peer at it, it's not in English.

"I can't read that," she says in a small voice.

Nathan clears his throat. "It says, 'my circuits are not damaged. Just a little overheated.' Does that suffice?"

"Good enough," says Da Vinci, but she sounds more cheerful than she did. "Okay. Ritsuka, report. I'm guessing things didn't go as planned -- at no point did we detect a grail in your vicinity."

Oh, butts. Ritsuka slumps. "Yeah. We found the ring on the throne and everything, but it wasn't a grail. I think it was a trap of some kind -- there weren't any phantasms in the palace until after one of us touched it."

The way Roman's mouth pulls down and tight, Ritsuka is sure, is not just physical pain.

"And the Queen Mother is there with you?"

"Yeah." Ritsuka nods, an absent bob while she keeps Roman's gaze. "One of the palace guards offered to help us escape if we rescued Bathsheba. His name was Uriah." Ritsuka shrugs apologetically at the way Roman's whole face crinkles.

"What else?" Da Vinci prompts.

"The animals were waking up by the time we left," Ritsuka says, slowly because she's trying to think at the same time. "And there was laughing, when Kate picked up the ring. But --" She motions, struggling for words. "It didn't  _ sound _ right. It didn't  _ sound _ like a demon. When we went into the staircase down to the Pool of Siloam, we heard a voice speaking, but --"

Roman nods.

"We heard it also," says Nathan, and the shadows of his brow, where the hollows of his eyes are sunken, deepen. "But I agree. The first did not sound the same as the rest."

"There was more than one?"

"Asmodeus spoke to us here in the temple," Zadok says quietly. "'Wretched king' -- that was the phrase he used when my king dismissed him from the throne."

"What did this first voice say?" Da Vinci asks.

Ritsuka closes her eyes. "'I'm coming for you, unforgotten king'."

"It was a lighter voice," Nathan adds, thoughtfully slow. "The voice of a young man, perhaps, or --"

"A child," says Bathsheba simply, and there is a moment of contemplative silence. Roman's hand curls around his mother's, and his face as he looks up at her -- it's weariness and comprehension, pain and understanding. She bends her head over him, holding his hand tightly; and Ritsuka looks away. If phantom spirits can weep, she really doesn't want to know. "... I suspect the power behind this place is my first son."

"I thought ..." Ritsuka motions at Roman. "I mean, he is your first son, isn't he?"

When Bathsheba shakes her head, her hair bounces off her neck the same way Doctor Roman's had. "My first son was stillborn. He never received a name in the eyes of the Lord."

... Oh.  _ Crap_.

"Unforgotten king," Da Vinci murmurs. "Then Asmodeus is a weapon being used, a trap to be triggered. I thought he was a bit odd for the context; if the Singularity is loneliness, those who've been forgotten, then Asmodeus hardly counts. His name is written down. What is it the Egyptians say? A man whose name is still spoken cannot be forgotten?"

"But when you have no name at all," Mash whispers, "what is there to remember?"

"Especially," Da Vinci continues, " _ especially _ given the cause behind his death. For the sins of the father, after all."

Ritsuka swallows hard, and it really doesn't help dislodge the hard lump in her throat at all. "'I am the subject who was betrayed by my king.' That's what Uriah said. I only know his name because one of the other guards said it."

"I see," murmurs Da Vinci. "What's playing out here is a family melodrama. Are you likely to see Absalom or Adonijah there, by any chance? -- No, that's unlikely. One must have been before your time, and the other too long after, and more inclined toward covetous tendencies rather this sort of bitter jealousy."

"Aaaaand I'm back to rifling through Dad's underwear drawer," Ritsuka mutters, and Mash's giggle is both abrupt and staticky, while Roman's mouth turns down.

"Um -- s- sorry, Doctor --"

"Well, am I  _ wrong _ ?" Ritsuka says defensively, but Roman's mouth turns down more and his sigh is very definitely exasperated.

"Oh, not so inaccurate, no," says Da Vinci, sounding a lot more cheerful with amusement. "What happened to Tamar and Kate, and Uriah?"

Just like that Ritsuka's fragile smile evaporates, and her voice is dull and heavy as she answers. "Tamar held back the phantasms in the throne-room so we could escape. Kate led off the guards around the harem so we could get Bathsheba out ... by the way, Doctor, sometime in the future when things aren't so dire and you don't look like a kicked puppy, I  _ am _ going to ask why your _ mother _ lives with your  _ harem _ ."

The strangled noise Roman makes is quiet but distinct, but the way three different phantom spirits look in her direction gives Ritsuka the impression she's missing something. Or possibly they're just offended she's so familiar with him.

"Is there somewhere else the Queen Mother ought to live?" Nathan asks with a great air of confusion, despite his lack of a face. Mash's giggling reaches critical mass enough to make the connection fuzz.

"It was very common for the ruling king's mother to live with his wives, Ritsuka," Da Vinci explains, business-like but still with that air of cat-amused satisfaction. "She was generally responsible for managing them, as the only woman with any acceptable sway over the given ruler; and they would have been the nearest things she had to social peers."

Ritsuka pauses. Looks at Bathsheba. Looks down at Doctor Roman. "Still creepy," she informs him, "but not really your fault, I guess, if that's how things were done."

Doctor Roman makes another strangled noise, and Bathsheba's laugh is soft and barely-audible as she squeezes his hand.

"Back to business," Da Vinci says. "I'm guessing Uriah is on the list of people we can no longer contact, so I'll just assume it's going to be difficult if not impossible to re-enter the palace the same way we did before and go from there." Roman nods slightly. "What about risks? Are you all likely to be attacked in the near future? We caught most of Romani's incantation, but so much of it was in Ancient Hebrew that I'm not sure of the subject matter, save the obvious."

Ritsuka swallows. "Well ... there wasn't anyone left on the streets ..."

She doesn't know how to describe what she'd seen; part of her doesn't  _ want _ to. It was -- beautiful, and alarming; and the combination of the two feels like trying to describe the horrible things she'd seen in Uruk, but from the other direction. Seeing the layers of the world stripped away to see the muscle underneath -- that's what it was like. Just ... with a Singularity, instead of people.

Roman takes a breath, and his stylus scratches. This time, when she leans over, the words are in English. "Uhhh ... Doctor Roman says we won't be attacked. Something about -- dude, do doctors take classes in illegible handwriting?" She ignores the soft strangled noise from one of the phantom spirits, and Roman's eyeroll as he flicks the graphite to make a letter more obvious. "Ohhhh ... I never thought of that ..."

"Senpai?"

Ritsuka sits back. "It's a power thing. The Holy Grail is a legend belonging to the son of God, right?"

Da Vinci makes a comprehending noise and Ritsuka happily lets her cut in to finish explaining. " _ Ah _ , I see. The story of Jesus is far after King Solomon's time. The Authority of the temple belongs to the same deity. Even though the power of a grail forms the Singularity, naturally the Authority drawn by the temple would have equal power -- or even  _ greater _ power. It is only a lesser grail, after all; but this temple is the original, in a manner of speaking."

Roman nods, a little short; Ritsuka sees the way his eyes line with pain, and yet he doesn't make a sound.

"Yeah," she says on his behalf. "Only, it takes a lot out of him. It would've been better if we could resolve the Singularity before he had to resort to that. But, now he has ..."

And he suspected he'd have to. He warned the people in the city, the ones unclaimed by the king in the palace, to protect themselves by dashing blood on their doorways. Now Ritsuka remembers the Passover, and where she'd seen something similar; in a kid's cartoon, years ago, back when spirits were goofy fakes.

"Effectively, Romani has reasserted dominion over the city of Jerusalem," Da Vinci finishes for her, cheerful with conclusions. "The power behind the Singularity has retreated to his stronghold: the palace. It's curious, really, that the temple is on a different hill ..."

Doctor Roman's stylus scratches, and Ritsuka cranes her head to read. "That's because he's enforcing his will to push it away," she reads. "It's rejection of my accomplishment."

"Ah, that makes sense." Da Vinci hums. "In which case, if Ritsuka had claimed the grail, your temple would have returned to the Temple Mount, correct? Immediately within reach of a leyshift back, in the event the Singularity's gravity wreaked havoc. Very neat and tidy, if it had worked." Roman grimaces. "So, effectively, you can  _ reach _ the palace without interference: but  _ entering _ it is another matter. He will be consolidating all his defences around that one point."

"There has to be some way Senpai can get in," Mash starts.

"Without knowing where the grail is actually being held, it's a very risky proposition," Da Vinci answers. Ritsuka lets them talk it through; she's watching Roman, and the way he closes his eyes. At first it's just to make sure he's not about to do something stupid, like dying; but no, this is different. This is his thinky-face.

"Doctor Roman?"

Her question makes the conversation on the other side cut off. "Ah, yes," says Da Vinci. "Romani, have any insights?"

"He's holding up a finger," Ritsuka reports. "And he's thinking. And thinking. And thinking ..." Roman opens his eyes and gives her a look which is sulky-irritable defensivness and amusement at once. Ritsuka grins back. "Well?"

"The Fisher King," he says, and his voice is soft and hoarser than anything she's ever heard; and his face creases after. But: he  _ speaks _ , and it's audible, and Ritsuka slumps. Oh, good. He's already healing. Even the blisters around his mouth seem to be fading.

"The what now?"

" _ Ah _ ." Da Vinci's voice comes on the heels of Ritsuka's prompt. "A _ ha _ , there's the fellow genius I know! That will work, I think."

"Care to fill the rest of us in?" Ritsuka demands. "The Fisher King. That sounds familiar."

"It's a Grail Quest, Senpai," says Mash softly. "The story goes that there was a man, a king, who held the grail; but he was cursed. His wife and child were dead, and his kingdom was beset with famine; and because he was crippled, the only means of sustenance he had to provide for his people was to fish in the lake around his castle."

"The legend goes that his curse could only be lifted by one who asks the right question," Da Vinci goes on, "but he was unable to say what it was, or indeed reveal that he had the grail at all. In the most popular rendition of the tale, the question to ask is, 'Why do you suffer so?'"

"At their hearts," says Roman very softly, and his voice is even less hoarse than it was, "the Singularities are Grail Quests."

"Exactly so," agrees Da Vinci. "This Singularity is a  _ story _ , or a series of stories, colliding; but, most of all, it's one of loneliness and suffering. The story of the Fisher King is one of grace and absolution. By approaching the palace as if it is a Fisher King Grail Quest, we may be able to shape the Singularity further in our favour, and gain entrance without having to overcome all the palace's defences."

"So we're telling our own story," says Ritsuka, "and making it easier by telling it. Like Shinjuku."

" _ Exactly _ like Shinjuku." Da Vinci's smile is audible. "Romani, I take it you have some ideas how to go about this?"

"As a matter of fact," says Roman softly, and with a faint smile, "I do."


	19. Mothers, fathers, sons and daughters

Most of the preparations take place on Chaldea's side of things. Romani lets most of the conversation wash over his head; he's done enough, he's had the ideas. For now he needs to rest a little more.

His skin feels tight all over, but when he cycles magic through his circuits, however cautiously, it flows easily. That Authority isn't the kind to damage permanently; just levy a little reminder that, perhaps, wisdom isn't found in the raw use of power, and to be sure of the right. It's fine. Romani, of all people, has the right. He's never asked for anything before, save at prompting.

The chair is a little much right now, but when Romani rises, shaky on his feet and robes tugging at the bare inked lines on his back which connect shoulder to shoulder, hip to hip, his mother rises with him, one hand on his elbow at all times. He hadn't been able to avoid looking at her, with his head in her lap and all the strength drained out of his limbs; but now that he has the strength to cry, he's a little worried that if he does look, he  _ will _ .

"You're okay with this, right?" Ritsuka asks Mash for the third time.

"Senpai! I'm fine. I'll be fine. I won't have to do much, right?"

"Yeah, but you hate feeling useless ..."

"I have never seen you smile so ..." says Mother softly, watching his face with wonder in her voice; and immediately Romani's face tries to erase the expression without his needing to think about it. "Don't --"

Her fingers touch the corner of his mouth where blisters have already healed, gently cold the way phantom spirits are. Romani's eyes burn and his chest feels like there's a rock in it. Ah, he's not getting out of this even if he  _ doesn't _ look at her, isn't he? So he may as well.

Even so it takes some gargantuan effort to actually do so -- and then he'd forgotten, about the faces of phantom spirits, the way they have none ... Like a shade of a memory that makes the squeeze in his chest tighter.

"I don't remember what you look like," he confesses miserably, and her fingers turn to cup his face instead, smooth away tears. "I don't know if I ever  _ looked _ at you enough to remember. Did -- did your hair used to be longer?" He's pretty sure he remembers it being longer ... But he can't be sure. He might be thinking of his own.

There's a breath of silence; then: "Yes." Her thumb travels across the bone of his cheek. "It was caught in a rock-fall in the Pool of Siloam. Master Ritsuka had to cut it off for me."

"... Oh." It's a very watery word, and Romani swallows down tears -- or tries. It doesn't work all that well. Especially not with how she keeps touching his face. "Mother ..."

"If I could, I would have chosen another for your father," she says, all quiet and inexorable, the way someone does when the words have been locked up tight and now given release. He's familiar with the sound. It's different, to the tone he'd used, when words flowed through him from some other power. "If I could have, I would have --"

Uriah as a father. Romani doesn't even know what to do with the thought. He'd only known about Uriah in the way he'd known about Absalom -- in the whispers around the palace and the city, in the flinches when he spoke names of ghosts never spoken to him.

"-- but that's a useless thought, is it not? If Uriah had lived, you would not be  _ you _ ." Her other hand comes up to cup his face, and Romani wishes badly that she had eyes -- or  _ something _ \-- so he could see her expression. "Or perhaps you've have been more of you. Solomon --" He flinches. He can't help it. Her fingers smooth away the creases in his face. "Your nameless brother belonged to your father.  _ You _ are the son I chose as his successor. For all your father's sins --  _ I _ am the one who chose the path of Israel. Please do not weep for me."

"It's not that," he tries. It's not. It's really not. The idea  _ having _ a father who loved him, whom Romani could know  _ did _ ; a father who didn't give him tired-terrified looks because he spoke the name he didn't know he oughtn't.

_ Cruel, but honest. _

He needs to put that thought down for now.

"I just --" Words get stuck in his mouth until he could choke on them. "... I don't know how you could have loved a son who couldn't love you back."

"Could you not?" Her fingers wipe away more tears. Her hands must be soaked by now ... "Is that why you weep? For the ache of love unfinished?"

The pain in Romani's chest twists, and the only sound in his throat is small and one of anguish. He nods without speaking, without trying. She'd given up so much, by her own words had  _ chosen him _ \-- all for someone who hadn't known what love was.

She exhales a long sigh of words. "Ah, my son ..."

When she puts her arms around him and tugs him closer, Romani doesn't resist. He's not sure  _ how _ , to begin with; and he doesn't remember being hugged like this, besides. Surprise glomps around the waist as Ritsuka does -- that's different. This is an embrace, and he leans into it with a small choked noise, resting his head against his mother's shoulder.

"This is as much as I ever hoped," she whispers in his ear. "That, some day, somehow, I would know that you remember me fondly."

_ Crap _ .

His shoulders shake and his arms come around her waist to cling to her as tightly as he dares -- there's some part of him convinced that if he holds too tight she'll dissolve and fade away. "I m- missed you -- so much --" The first year of his rebirth had been the unique agony of being able to  _ feel things _ for the first time, and remember how he'd lived, and judge himself for it. He'd missed her so sharply he'd felt like he was dying, over and over again; and could never have predicted that he'd feel so, if he'd had the chance to think it through. "I  _ do _ love you, Mother. I do."

Her exhale is soft against his ear. "That is enough for me to know, and I go to the Lord gladly."

Her hand cards through his hair and Romani buries his face in her shoulder, and stops trying not to weep. There's really no point; he should know by now the best way out is through. It's just -- whenever he'd had to ride out an emotion, he'd been able to do so alone, and not surrounded by people relying on him.

At least, until Okeanos.

And until now.

She holds him until the tears are no longer so thick in his throat that it's a trial to keep them in; until he can breathe and not feel like there's a blade in his heart. At least, not one that's unbearable. Finally he lifts his head with a deep trembling breath, and lifts his hand to wipe off his face.

"My king," Nathan says quietly but with a kind of warmth in his tone which had never been there before to Romani's recollection, "your people are ready, I believe."

"... Okay." Romani takes another deep breath, and this one shudders less. Ah, he could really use a handkerchief ... but has no pockets now, either. He's about to settle for bare hands when Mother uses the edge of her sleeve -- or rather, the sleeve of his own coat -- to wipe his face for him. Though there's no face for him to see, the way the shadows and greyness fall seems like she's smiling.

"Go and be with your people, Solomon. They need you."

That  _ really _ isn't helping him to not tear up again, but Romani takes a deep breath and swallows them, and manages a smile instead. It's not as difficult as he feared it would be -- not too difficult to smile, and not too difficult to take her hands and kiss them, ignoring the lump in his throat. Then he draws one last breath and pulls away to move toward the base camp, his stride only a little hitched and his limbs throbbing only briefly.

"We're ready?" he asks Hopper and Hedy, and a little toward Ritsuka, who's looking suspiciously shiny-eyed up at the ceiling.

"Yes," says Hedy, and picks up a device with a blinking light already active. "This  _ should _ help with transmission, once they've moved out of the temple; but keep an eye on it. With any luck, their existent won't rely on this surviving intact."

"Got it," Ritsuka says with a nod, taking the device and attaching it to her belt. It looks a bit like a wifi dongle.

"Okay," says Da Vinci, all full of cheer. "Executing leyshift?"

"Executing leyshift," calls someone in the background. "Three ... two ... one ..."

The circle that is base-camp lights up in a rush of power, somewhere between electric and riverwater. Ritsuka steps back -- they all step back, at least to the same level at which Romani stands. He's never seen a leyshift from this side before; at first in the circle of light there's the implications of shapes, and then silhouettes: as though the light is painting something moment by moment. It's a lot like how his clairvoyance had painted pictures for him, except the light is mostly blue.

Romani finds himself holding his breath as the light shines with inverse shadows in it, and then fades with a powering-down hum. The hulking armoured figures belonging to Lancelot and Tristan are the most readily identifiable at a glance, but in front of them --

In front of them is --

"Doctor!" Mash lights up and rushes toward him, and there is the barest moment when she checks herself; but his arms are already opening and the moment really is only bare. The next she throws herself at him fit to make him stagger, arms tight around his waist. Laughing, crying, Romani wraps his arms around her shoulders and bends his head to breathe against her hair. She's not quite tall enough for him to reach her without trouble ... not quite. Not like this: as a schoolgirl of an assistant, all jacket and comfortably practical shoes.

"I missed you," she whispers into his chest, and Romani grips her a little tighter. He's not going to say anything about his tunic getting damp. Definitely not.

"I was a little worried you'd balk at the sight of me," he admits, and though his voice is thick the words are mostly breathless with the laugh still in them.

"Mh-mm." Mash shakes her head without lifting her face from his chest. "Senpai told us you were wearing this face, remember? And anyway ... I got to see Goetia wearing your face when you were reborn, when Goetia visited my dreams and tried to convince me to go with him. I could tell when it was him ... the way he spoke, the way he moved wasn't right. And if he looked wrong like you, then only you could like right when you looked like him, see?"

Romani lifts his face to laugh scattered toward the ceiling. "No," he says, "but it's okay. I'll take your word for it."

Looking up means the first thing he sees is Lancelot explicitly not looking at them to bow toward Ritsuka, and Ritsuka trying not to be too obvious about her awkward sidelong glances. Tristan has no such compunctions about watching, though, and his faint wistful smile is perversely the most awkward thing of all; enough that Romani clears his throat and nudges Mash's shoulder so she pulls away, rubbing her eyes.

The tears get brushed away; the smile remains. And Romani can't quite find the will to lift his hands from her shoulders; and it's all moot anyway, because she starts.

"Ah! I was asked to give you something!"

He gazes down with bemused indulgence as she pats her pockets and comes out with a gorgeous rose to hand him. He takes it, wondering; it's the most perfect rose that could be formed, full with white silken petals and a touch of pink at their roots. "Who --?"

The question is cut off by a yelp of pain as the rose's stem abruptly curls around his wrist and digs in its thorns, criss-crossing his tattoos. The collision of magic is like a static-spark before he feels it moving again, absorbed by the roots of the rose even now digging in deep.

"My king?!" Benaiah's voice, alert and worried, makes Romani swallow another sound of pain; and when he turns it's not-quite-guiltily, hiding his rose-braceleted wrist behind his back.

"It's fine," he reassures Benaiah, even as the phantom spirit is in the process of crossing toward them, all looming and protective in his armour, with his arms. He can feel blood beading around the thorns, captured before they can trickle down his wrist. "Ah, I just stretched something badly, that's all ..."

If Benaiah had a face, it would have been suspicious, Romani thinks; but in the end he bows deeply, without even the desire to disbelieve his king, and Romani turns back around while lifting his hand with a hiss. He runs his fingers along the stem, searching for traction; but if anything the thorns dig in more stubbornly, and Romani only barely manages to turn another sound of pain into a sound of frustration.

"S- sorry, Doctor," Mash whispers, horrified. "I didn't -- if I'd known --"

The rose's petals are slowly filling with blushing red. Romani scowls down at it. There's really only one person who would flirt with lethal flowers. "Merlin gave you this to give to me, didn't he?"

"... Uh huh." Mash nods, watching the rose with fascination. "He said it was important -- for, um, his observations. Of the Singularity."

"Of course he did," Romani mutters. "And he wouldn't front up himself. Just as well for him, I suppose." To draw the blood of the God-blessed kings of Israel means execution. Romani exhales, willing his heart to stop pingballing off the insides of his ribs. Yes, just as well. That's a complication Romani really doesn't want to have to see again. And anyway, it's not like Merlin could have leyshifted in, with the strict constraints of story and place binding them to a handful. Romani would concede that, except he's not feeling that charitable, with his wrist throbbing and the rose blooming smugly on the back of his hand.

With a sigh he lets his hand drop and ruffles Mash's hair with his other, finding a smile. "Never mind. Reprobate mages have to be as obnoxious as they can be, I guess."

"Ah, truer words have never been spoken." Tristan smiles as he crosses the floor all limber grace, and bows as deeply as anyone could without actively bending knee. "O Blessed King of Israel. This is, perhaps, a privilege which can only be expected after death."

"Oh, not you as well." Romani shakes his head. "You already have a king, you know."

"It is so," Tristan agrees with a flash of a smile, "but we would be remiss not to honour the chosen of God, no?"

Romani grumbles wordlessly and Ritsuka snickers, coming up to take Mash's hand and nudge their shoulders together. "Hey. Don't  _ I _ get a hug?"

"Ah!" Mash's cheeks pink. "S- sorry, Senpai!"

"It's okay. I'll collect when we get back to Chaldea." She looks up at Romani, all grins and relaxation; and even after having been away for months, Romani can see how much more relaxed she is, with Mash there. Even without Mash being able to take a Servant form, with her magical circuits jammed; it was expected, and can't be helped. They need Mash too much, for this quest. "So, everyone came in just fine."

She waves a hand behind her, to Lancelot silent and attentive; and when he has their attention Lancelot bows also, as deeply as Tristan had. "O Blessed King of Israel."

"Ah, won't  _ that _ get tiring," murmurs someone else, someone light of voice and wry of tone, and impossible to tell whether he's questioning or remarking. Romani winds up thankful for Merlin's rose after all. His wrist is throbbing too much for him to remember to flinch.

"I didn't think that you ever thought that," he answers with a smile faintly cutting, and grimaces almost in the same breath. David comes from behind Lancelot with his shepherd's crook cradled in his elbow, and purses his lips looking at Romani, and Romani's hand on Mash's head.

"Sometimes," he says, with a twist in the corner of his mouth that might have been wry, might have been wistful; might just have been mocking. Once upon a time, Romani would have known. "I think I forgot, after a while." He bows with a kind of easy grace which edges toward irreverence, far more shallowly than the Knights of the Round had. "O Most Blessed King of Israel."

Yep. His chest still twists, and he still doesn't know whether his father means it or not. Yay. He never had this trouble when he was alive and clairvoyant.

"You're right," says Romani, as lightly as he knows how, and knows he's wearing the idle smile he always had in life; he can't quite stop it. "I  _ am _ already tired of that."

"And you  _ would _ say that with that smile, too," David murmurs.

"Are you  _ sure _ we can't get video working?" Da Vinci asks wistfully, but the distance from the mic suggests she's asking someone in the command-room. "I'd hate to miss this kind of floor show."

"Sorry," comes a little more distant still; and: "The mic's on."

"Oh, so it is." Da Vinci's voice exhibits none of the surprise her words suggest. "Good to know everyone arrived just fine, then! Is everything ready on your end?"

Romani draws in a deep breath and lets it out slowly. He, as ever, can't leave his Territory; but if the power on the Temple Mount is broken, they'll arrive close-by in the case reinforcements are needed. For now ...

For now, it's Ritsuka and Nursery Rhyme, Mash and David, Lancelot and Tristan. That's who they have. In as far as strike teams, it's a pretty good one; and the fact of the Heroic Spirits leyshifting in means their connection will be far more solid, even with Hedy's additional aids. Even still, Romani had to let Maria go to allow them to leyshift in: he'd used far too much power with that Authority, and leyshifting so many Servants is taking power out of his temple -- and therefore out of him.

And on his side ... Romani looks over their heads to Benaiah, and nods.

Benaiah bows. "My king. We've sent couriers to the rebels in the city."

"Is Nancy okay?" Ritsuka demands, and Benaiah's head turns fractionally. "Um. Sorry."

"Nancy Drew has sent word," Benaiah continues, perhaps a touch pointedly, "and the rebels have agree to send some combatants to meet with Master Ritsuka at the palace gates."

Ritsuka squeezes Mash's hand, grinning. "Maybe it'll actually be Mulan this time -- I haven't got to meet her yet."

Mash smiles back. "That  _ would _ be nice, wouldn't it, Senpai?"

Romani's heart aches for the way they look at each other, and the fact that this is the only chance he'll get to see it; but, not long ago, he hadn't thought he'd see Mash again. He'll take it; and so he doesn't look away, despite the pain, even finds himself wearing a small smile, however sad.

"Then we are ready," says Lancelot with a shallower bow toward Benaiah, all proper and courteous. "Please show us the way."

Benaiah nods back and turns to lead them out of the temple, at least as far as the lower courtyards; and he'll send guards into the city with them, to account for the needs of the residents. Ritsuka takes the opportunity to lunge at Romani's waist again, and Romani laughs softly, allowing it; encouraging it, with an arm around her shoulders, and tugging Mash closer with the hand still on her head.

"Be careful," he whispers down to them both. "I really wish I could go with you ..."

"No way," says Ritsuka determinedly into his chest. "You're the one who keeps the lights on, remember?" She pulls away grinning, the sort that's bright to hide the shine in her eyes. "We'll meet you there, 'kay?"

Romani huffs despite himself, despite the ache in his chest which seems just as warm as painful, and ruffles both their hair. "Okay. Get going."

They get, running a little to reach the knights waiting for them. Wordlessly Romani's mother comes to his side, and takes the hand that isn't festooned with a vicious rose. The last out the door is David, ambling as if he's out for a day in the fields, crook swishing; but at the doors he pauses and glances back. For only an instant -- just long enough for Mother's grip to tighten around Romani's hand, for Romani catch something that might have been regret on David's face before it's hidden by the shadows of the door as he leaves.

"So that was him before he was king," Mother murmurs, and Romani nods silently. "... He seems different."

_ Well, I'll give the glory of temple-building to someone who's good at that kind of thing ... _

"I think he forgot a lot, after he was king for a while," Romani answers simply, and squeezes her hand. "But this is the form that matters most to him. That's why ..."

Why he looks like it. Why he seems so bluntly carefree. Why, sometimes, even without him knowing, he and Romani could find some measure of accord -- even snippy, backhanded accord. Romani doesn't know what he'd have done, if David had incarnated as king and not shepherd. This had been hard enough, when Romani has no idea how he feels about the man.

He doesn't know how he means to finish that sentence. There's too many things to say, too many feelings Romani had spent too long ignoring in Chaldea. But Mother nods, and leans her shoulder against his; and her silent understanding somehow takes some of the edge away.


	20. The shepherd and the king

This, Ritsuka decides, is  _ much _ better than having to parachute into a garden on a starless, lightless night. She's still got to get Doctor Roman back for that one. She's got time. She'd  _ better _ have time, she's just sayin', after everything Mash has said about Merlin.

In the meantime, walking through Jerusalem is a bit like going for a Sunday stroll, complete with some of her favourite people. The sky is actually sky, and by this point is resembling something like daytime -- if still overcast. The streets aren't quite so deadly empty as they were just after the -- messenger, she'll go with messenger -- of death -- Ritsuka's not thinking about that for the time being. The people of the city are starting to poke their heads outdoors. They pass a street where a market is starting to spring up, with awnings trying to decide if they dare to be vibrant and relief on the faces of the people.

It's a pretty city, though it'd probably be prettier if it weren't for the beast corpses strewn in various places, and if it didn't, on the whole, have the dull greyness of a phantom spirit -- as if the city itself is a phantom spirit. The thought is a pretty sobering one.

Benaiah's guards split off in groups every time they reach a blockage, or evidence of significant battle, until it's only the small group of them left. Benaiah himself had seen them off at the stairs to the transplanted temple. Ritsuka hadn't asked if that's because he couldn't leave his king, or just didn't want to.

"Is it like you remember?" Ritsuka asks David, half trying to get that thought out of her head and half out of pure curiosity, thinking of that time when David had wanted to visit Camelot. It's odd, calling it Camelot, knowing where the landscape was, and having seen David's sheer relieved delight at being in his own land once again. The nature of the conquerors, she supposes.

David looks around with wistfulness in his face. "Some of it. Some of it is new. My city was smaller, you see -- it was barely a fort when I chose it as Israel's new capital. Solomon really went all-out with building things ..."

"You did say you'd leave the glory of the temple-building to someone better at it," Mash says softly, and David hums.

"I didn't, didn't I? It's embarrassing, when things like that come out when you don't mean them to. Anyway, archeological history never has been able to find the things he built, at least not and prove that they were -- so I suppose that's  _ some _ consolation."

Tristan laughs softly. "Ah, you are spiteful, O Favoured of the Lord."

"It's a hard thing, for fathers to be overshadowed by their sons," David answers simply, and goes ahead of them, his crook swishing in the air in a way which turns the jingle of the bell into a melody.

Ritsuka glances toward Lancelot, but his attention seems to be on the sky, rather than anything on the ground; at least, aside from a silent sidelong glance leaning in Mash's direction. Man, she's going to have to  _ ask _ him about that sooner or later, isn't she? The way he'd been looking at Mash and Doctor Roman right up until Roman looked up -- it's cousin to the expression he wears when he's around Artoria, except tilted more toward wistful regret than anguished guilt.

Not right now, though. Bad timing, since they're coming up on the Temple Mount, and even though there are people risking the streets they're most definitely avoiding the stairs to the Mount: and the sounds of battle are as clear as a bell now. David drops back to join the rest of them. Lancelot tugs on his helmet and draws his sword. Tristan pulls his hair back in a tail and limbers his bow. Mash takes Ritsuka's hand and also gets in front of her, before realising she doesn't have her shield and armour.

"Ah ..."

"Stay back here with me," Ritsuka tells her with a tug on her hand, and Mash obeys, looking unhappy.

"I don't like being useless."

Ritsuka laughs. "Are you kidding? You're the most important person in the party right now."

"Master is correct," says Lancelot softly, voice tinny through steel. "There is only one who freed the Fisher King. Are we prepared?"

Mash takes a deep breath and nods, and Ritsuka glances around. Tristan's helmet is a lighter thing that Lancelot's, enough to see his eyes; he nods too. David barely seems to be paying attention at all, but Ritsuka decides to take the way he's gazing up the stairs as assent.

"Yeah," she says. "Let's go. Please lead, Sir Lancelot."

"As you wish, Master."

At least the stairs look shorter compared with Lancelot's armoured height and bulk, Ritsuka thinks; and the fact they move cautiously makes the stairs a bit easier to tackle. She could  _ really _ do without David skipping up and down them like he's some kind of mountainous sheep, though.

" _ Seriously _ ?" she demands as he passes for the third time toward the height of the steps, but his only response is laughter drifting on the breeze. "I am gonna give him  _ such _ a talking-to when we get home."

"Ah, don't be too hard on him, Master," Tristan says in a cheerful tone which says more about how depressing all this is than any sorrow he could muster. If misery loves company, then Tristan would be the dictionary definition. "Kings are entitled to be eccentrics."

"Says who?!"

"Well, them, mostly ..."

Ritsuka snorts as long and loudly as she can, and hopes David can hear Tristan laughing from all the way up the steps. He's waiting for them by the time they reach the top, twisting and turning his shepherd's crook so the bell chimes; and it's not until Ritsuka  _ gets _ to the top step that she realises he's talking to someone. Or hitting on someone, rather.

"Nancy!" Ritsuka drops Mash's hand to bolt toward her, beaming, and only stopping short of actually hugging her at the last moment. They really don't know each other that well, technically. Even so, the sight of her makes something tight in Ritsuka uncoil; it's not until her legs feel wobbly with it that she realises how worried she'd been that Doctor Roman might have had to kill their own allies. "You made it!"

"Basic deduction," Nancy says with a modest shrug. Ritsuka opts not to remind her that she'd admitted she didn't know much about Passover, back in the sewer. "There's no other reason for the Doctor-Master to warn us to paint the lintels of all the doors belonging to his people. I suppose we're stretching that phrase a bit, with how many of us aren't Jews or Israelites, but it seemed to work, once we saw the light-show at the temple."

"And Colonel Kudasheva?"

Nancy shakes her head. "Someone had to hold them back for the rest of us." Ritsuka thinks of Emiya standing firm against a flood of phantasmals, and nods. "Anyway -- did you get the Queen Mother to the temple?"

"Yeah," Ritsuka says, and motions at the knights behind her, and at David. "We were able to bring in reinforcements. How are things going here?"

"Not really all that well," Nancy admits. "We were hoping to have opened a path into the gardens for you, but there's someone at the gate. We can't get through him. Even Mulan can't get through him."

"Someone?" asks Ritsuka, frowning. "Someone we recognise?"

"Not someone  _ I've _ met before, anyway." Nancy motions for them to follow. "He's a bit of a giant. I've been keeping back in case there's an opening to slip through into the palace, but I haven't even managed that -- so I decided to come wait for you to get here. Any ideas?"

"A giant, huh." Ritsuka glances sidelong at David. "A  _ giant _ giant, or just, like, a giant person?"

"He's definitely human," Nancy says, "or was -- he has all the hallmarks of a phantom spirit, but one of the ones who can't remember his name. Either that, or he just refuses to talk to us. That's possible too."

"Someone else recognised Uriah," Ritsuka points out.

"Yeah, but none of the forces are getting in this fellow's way. No one's getting close enough to say his name, or try to hold him back. They're just making it impossible to squeeze past him and over the wall."

She has to raise her voice for the rest to be heard, as they come around the final bend that is the road leading to the Temple Mount; and then there is suddenly silence, and before them is the wall, and the gates, and the palace's non-phantasmal forces arrayed. There's a lot more than Ritsuka remembers inside the palace -- or maybe that's just what it looks like now they're on flat open ground. In the middle of the road there's a man standing still. He's not giant, or at least not how Ritsuka imagines giants; more like Darius or Heracles than a spriggan, and at least part of that is due to monumental reputation, she knows.

Closer to their side of the track are the motley forces of the rebels, behind riot shields and rocks. The quiet is eerie now they're here; when Ritsuka cranes her head she can see where the wounded are being tended. They arrived at a good spot, didn't they?

One of the figures separates from the pack, all clad in Chinese plated armour, and it's not until she's right in front of them pulling off her helmet that Ritsuka realises who she has to be. Concealing a fangirlish squeak takes a  _ lot _ more effort than she's willing to admit.

"There you," says Mulan to Nancy, who waggles her fingers. "I take it you found no way in?"

"None." Nancy motions at. "This is Ritsuka, she's the Master I've been talking about. These are her Servants, I guess." She frowns a little at Mash, who in no way looks like combatant; even David's got some leather on. "Almost certainly they know who that fellow is."

"Right." Ritsuka nods firmly, and glances around. "Anyone? Volunteers? Does the act of approaching the palace mean we've already changed the story enough that it's someone from a Grail Quest?"

"There are a few giants fought," Lancelot murmurs.

"You  _ would _ know," Tristan murmurs back, but Lancelot's helmet turns from side to side.

"It isn't Galahaut. The circumstances are all wrong, and this man isn't the correct build."

"He isn't anyone from a Grail Quest," David agrees, and his mouth seems to be doing something resigned even as it smiles. "Ah, so this is why I had to be here ... I wonder if he knew." The last is softly contemplative before he raises his voice again. "I can keep his attention; but you'll need to take care of the rest yourselves."

"Are you going to  _ explain _ , or just -- yep." Ritsuka sighs as David steps out toward the no-man's-land between the line of Mulan's troops and those from the palace without even indicating he's considering a response.

"He'll attack if you go past that bush," Nancy calls after him. David stops precisely aligned with it and bows, and it's a shallow kind of bow -- less even than he'd given Doctor Roman back at the temple.

"I am the shepherd who will be king. And you?"

For the first time since they got to the wall, the figure in the path stirs, reaching up to pull down his hood. At first, Ritsuka doesn't recognise him, with the faded wash-out of grey, and the beard. Then he shifts and there's a line of chiselled jaw, and the breeze tugs the curls on his nape, and Ritsuka sees --

"Oh,  _ crap _ ," she whispers.

"I am the king who betrayed his subjects," says King David, his voice grave and hollow, with only strains of melodic resonance in it. It's the voice of a man who hasn't sung for a long, long time.

David nods, as if this is just what he expected, and twirls his shepherd's crook in one hand, so the bell chimes as a flurry of a tune. "You've forgotten your roots, O King of Israel."

"There is no one fit to judge me," King David warns, and lifts his sword to point it toward them. "Be gone, rabble. The King of Israel does not bend for charlatans."

"Ah, well ..." David shrugs and Ritsuka sees Doctor Roman in that shrug, all casual with an undercurrent of nervous tension. "I'm fit to judge you, I think. When giants go astray, after all, who to lead them back but a giant-slayer?"

He steps past the shrubbery and King David lunges, and just like that battle is joined. David is nimbler on his feet, dodging and darting, and Ritsuka can see the flash of light off bell as his crook lashes out at the king's ankles and the backs of his knees, again and again.

"Senpai, come on!"

Mash tugs at Ritsuka's hand and she drags her gaze away from the Davids, and follows where Mash goes, twisting her hand to get it out of Mash's grip. She'll need two hands for this -- two hands to get Nursery Rhyme in front, ready to shove at anyone who tries to get in their way. It isn't much of a gap, but David-the-shepherd is definitely leading his kingly counterpart away, giving them an opening.

"Master! Take cover!" Lancelot pushes them behind a rock by the path as a hail of arrows curtains down; and when it's passed Tristan is the one who returns fire in a fluid medley of sound and timber. Even from a distance, Ritsuka can see the way soldiers buckle, ruptured by the invisible cutting edge. These soldiers probably won't have experienced that, at least not from someone who seems human -- Jerusalem at this time was before magic was given to humanity.

In the moment of their falter, Mulan shouts, a long cascade of a bolstering cry: and the rebels charge the soldiers of the palace.

"Go ahead of us, wisdom of the tale!" Ritsuka kisses Nursery Rhyme's cover and flings it into the air. In a rush of pages it shoots toward the gate, flinging itself at the closed bars and throwing open its covers with a rippling balloon of light. The explosion casts anyone nearby off their feet, and throws the doors down.

Lancelot goes first, but Tristan's arrows get there before him, downing defenders before they're able to fully rise. Anyone past the shattered bars, out of Tristan's sight, go down almost as fast under Lancelot's sword. Mash, as they run past, scoops up Nursery Rhyme, looking a little dazed and singed for a book, but still snapping readily at the startle.

"Ouch! It's just me!"

"Better keep it," Ritsuka says through gulps of air and pumping limbs. "Gonna need my hands free." The command seals on the back of her hand are burning, shimmering red. She is  _ so _ glad she doesn't have to try and handle all these Servants on her own.

"Master! This way!" Lancelot slashes with his sword and a defender falls, and just like that the way into the garden is clear on one side.

"This way!" Nancy darts past him, hefting her heavy flashlight like a potential weapon, and Ritsuka yelps.

"Where did you come from?!"

Nancy glances back. "Well, I wasn't going to stick around where all the swords are, was I?! Come on! You're going for the ritual room Tamar showed us, right?"

"Bloody detectives!" Ritsuka makes sure to shout it, but she follows, taking Mash's hand to pull  _ her _ along this time; and with the knights at their backs, they make for the tree-line.


	21. The king's gardens

Ritsuka catches up to Nancy where the trees begin, snatching for her wrist. "Hold up!" Crap, she's developing a stitch. Ritsuka presses a hand to her side, and takes some deep breaths. "The animals will be awake," she explains, and that makes Nancy stop short. "Betcha didn't think of that, did yah?"

Nancy turns, and the shadows of her brow imply a raised eyebrow; and then she reaches into her bag and pulls out a bundle of waxed leather to cradle in the crook of her elbow. When she peels it open, Ritsuka doesn't have to look closer to smell the rawness of the meat. Everything seems a lot realer now the city's been reclaimed.

"I hate detectives," she informs Nancy. "You're as bad as Sherlock."

"Thanks," says Nancy dryly as the knights catch up, Tristan fingering his bowstring back toward the gate and Lancelot with sword drawn warily toward the trees. "How were  _ you _ planning on getting through? The Doctor-Master asked us not to hurt the animals last time, if we could avoid it."

"Ah, well, we sort-of have a secret weapon," Mash begins, shifting Nursery Rhyme around in her arms to reach into the pocket of her jacket to pull out a spray bottle. Ritsuka narrows her eyes.

"What is  _ that _ ?"

"Um ..." Mash is  _ definitely _ blushing as she lifts the bottle uncertainly. "... Jaguar musk."

Ritsuka stares while she tries to actually process that. Her brain refuses. She holds up her hands. "I  _ don't _ want to know. I don't want to know. I definitely do not  _ ever _ want to know. I'm just grateful it wasn't  _ dragon _ musk."

"We couldn't be sure the animals here would react predictably to a dragon's scent," Mash answers the question Ritsuka had  _ absolutely not asked _ , sounding apologetic.

"Between the meat and the musk, we should make it through," says Nancy approvingly. "It's too bad the Doctor-Master can't just  _ talk _ to them."

"He doesn't have his rings anymore," Ritsuka says simply and shortly, and turns toward the trees. After a second's thought she grimaces and holds her hand out for the spray bottle. "I'd better take that. You keep Nursery Rhyme ready."

"Understood, Senpai."

"Ah, this reminds me of old times," Tristan murmurs, turning just enough that the flash of his smile is visible past the curve of his helm. "Does it not remind you, Lancelot?"

Lancelot doesn't answer, but Ritsuka gets the impression from the set of his shoulders that he might be grimacing in the safety of his helm, and points. "That is  _ definitely _ a story I want to hear later. Okay, let's go. Hopefully we won't see too many of Doctor Roman's pets."

"As you wish, Master," says Tristan with a shallow bow. "I shall leave the lead to you, shall I, Sir Lancelot?"

There is definitely a longsuffering sigh behind the helmet, but Lancelot steps forward all armoured defence and sword bared, and leads the way into the trees.

As it happens, they  _ do _ meet a few of the animals -- the ones who are more challenged by the spray-bottle's contents than threatened by it. At first there doesn't seem to be anything at all, save the occasional rustle of leaves or foliage as birds or prey-animals flee; but then Lancelot stops, and says low, "Master."

"Hm?" Ritsuka looks ahead, and there between the trees sits a lion. She really hopes it's not the same lion she almost stepped on earlier.

"And here as well," Tristan says softly, and when Ritsuka glances his way there's more lions there -- and, surprise surprise, an  _ actual _ jaguar. And a bear. Lovely. Just great.

"Nancy?"

"Got it."

Nancy sidles closer, reaching into her half-wrapped package, and in a quick series of tosses the meat hits the ground -- not exactly in front of all of the big cats, but close enough that they're pretty clearly an equal-opportunity offering.

Absolutely nothing happens. One of the cats bends down to sniff the meat, another yawns with its tail swishing, and that's just about it.

"Um. Senpai?" 

Ritsuka glances back. They are very  _ definitely _ surrounded by big cats and a couple of bears.

"Is it just me, or is it weird that so many of them are gathering like this?" she asks in undertone. "Why do I get the feeling all those birds and antelope we saw running away were sounding an alarm?"

"Well, Senpai, at least they haven't tried to attack us yet," Mash says in hushed tones.

"Your orders, Master?" Lancelot asks softly. Ritsuka stares at the lion directly in the way, thinking fast.

"Hey, Ritsuka," Nancy begins, but Ritsuka cuts her off.

"Yeah, I know. Hey, Mash, hand me Nursery Rhyme." She reaches sideways for the book, and as Mash sidles closer to hand it over the lion in front of Lancelot growls. Ohh, yep, that is definitely the same lion, isn't it? Of course it is. "... Maybe you should give it to Nancy instead."

"Okay, Senpai."

"And then very carefully get a little closer." Ritsuka's watching that lion past Lancelot, and sees the way Lancelot twitches; quickly she adds: "You were hugging Doctor Roman more recently than I was. I want them to go a good sniff." Just as well Ritsuka took the spray-bottle, even though there's no getting around the fact that Mash would've got some on her anyway. Cats have better senses of smell than to be tricked by a cover, right?

"Oh!" Mash's voice is full of comprehension. Ritsuka hears the rustle of pages, and then Mash steps out with shoulders straight, passing Lancelot without even a hesitation to present herself, hands extended, to the palace guards. "Sorry for barging in," Mash says to the lion. "We -- we really are trying to help get the palace back, I promise."

The lion leans in to sniff -- and sneezes, wrinkling its nose with a low growl. One of the jaguars rises, stretches long, and ambles over with a flick of tail around the lion's neck. That looks  _ really _ pointed, and really amused. Ritsuka's never gonna underestimate cats again.

The jaguar sniffs Mash, circling her round and round, and finally lifting onto its hind legs. Lancelot's grip on his sword tightens, but the jaguar just rests its paws on Mash's shoulders, sniffs her hair  _ thoroughly _ and with a snort, and finally licks her face all rough sanguine tongue. Mash giggles, the jaguar huffs, and then it lowers its paws and walks away. Around them the rest of the predators stir, stretching and yawning, and fading back into the cover of the garden -- except for the lion, who gives Ritsuka a flatly unimpressed look, and then rises to turn, and look back.

"Looks like we're getting an escort," says Nancy. "You know, this explains why some of the enemy's guards came out onto the path already injured. The gardens are rebelling."

"Ah, we should have thought of that," says Mash, rubbing her face and patting down her hair; but she's smiling. "Jaguars have  _ much _ bigger tongues than Fou does, don't they, Senpai?"

"It was big as your whole face," Ritsuka immediately agrees, and tucks the spray bottle into her belt using the handle. "Guess we don't need this anymore. When we get to a safe place, remind me to ask Doctor Roman why he didn't warn us about this."

"On the plus side, now we won't have any trouble getting into the palace." Nancy offers Nursery Rhyme back to Mash and they fall into file, with Lancelot ahead and Tristan in the rear, and the occasional rustle of foliage or glimpse of slinking cats through the trees. They get to the palace much faster than Ritsuka remembers from the last time; but as before, at the doors, there are guards -- and more than just one, this time.

"Darn," Ritsuka mutters, watching the soldiers shift nervously.

"They look pretty nervous, don't they," Nancy muses, and looks toward the lion half-visible in the speckled shadows of the bushes. Its tail swishes, its ear flicking toward her. "I don't suppose we could get your help with that too? It'd be a lot easier if they don't know there's people inside, yet."

The ear flickers out toward the open space between building and garden, and Ritsuka sees a flash of movement. "I think they've already got that covered."

Silently they watch the cats slinking along the tree-line, and the moment when the soldiers definitely notice them -- in the process missing the ones who have jogged with quiet grace to the walls of the building. When the soldiers step out even a little, shouting and jabbing with spears to try and scare the cats off into the trees, the cats by the wall leap. Ritsuka closes her eyes and turns away with a little shudder. Jaguar Warrior is at least mostly human-shaped. Now Ritsuka's going to have trouble getting  _ that _ out of her head.

"It's safe, Master," Lancelot says after a moment, and steps out of the trees. Ritsuka swallows hard and looks to where they're going; but now all she can see are cats sprawling lazily on the lawn, and the greyscale corpses pulled out of the hall. Yeah, she -- she really doesn't wanna know.

"I hope you remember the way to the altar-room," she says shakily to Nancy.

"I do." Nancy nods. "See? What  _ would _ you have done if I hadn't come along?"

"Gotten lost, probably." Ritsuka takes a deep breath and holds it while they pass the corpses and the cats, her back prickling with the sense of being watched. Good thing they're on her side, but still --  _ sheesh _ , cats.

Nancy moves closer to Lancelot to direct him as they move carefully through the palace. In here, the atmosphere is different. It isn't cleansed of doom and weight; even with lamps at intervals, the light seems dim, and when Ritsuka puts her hand on a wall she can feel something that seems like a heartbeat, or someone breathing. She pulls away from it shuddering and rubbing her hands on her trousers. Ick, ick ick.

Every now and then, from a distance, there's a growl or a shout or a scream, and without thinking Ritsuka sidles closer to Mash, groping for her hand. There's no tell who finds whose first, just that Ritsuka feels better once Mash's fingers are twined around hers.

"This is not a place of sadness and tragedy," Tristan says, voice low and tight.

"Isn't it?" Ritsuka looks up at the ceiling, jerks her head when it seems like there's movement out of the corner of her eyes: but there's nothing. Nothing but the dim, barely-illuminating lamps.

"It isn't meant to be," Lancelot answers. "There is a difference -- in the air and the shape of things. The shadow cast over this place is a curse, not a memory."

"How d'you know?" Nancy asks. Ritsuka's not sure if she's happy about that or not; she wants to know, but doesn't want to ask, and when she glances sidelong Mash's mouth is thin and tight.

"My mother's realm changed natures easily," is all Lancelot says, which is absolutely not an explanation and Ritsuka might bug him about it later, when she's better bolstered for the risk that his answer is depressing. After what Da Vinci said while they were planning, there's a lot more about Lancelot that seems depressing.

Every so often there's the sound of running footsteps. When that happens Lancelot indicates for them to wait while he moves ahead, silent and hulking and sword bared, to the next corner. Only once does Ritsuka hear a strangled noise, fast cut off; and when Lancelot comes back around he's wiping his sword off on a rag. If Ritsuka had ever wanted to know whether phantom spirits could bleed ...

Spoilers: she had never wanted to know.

Finally they get to the hall where the altar-room was. No lamps are lit; no shadows move. It's a place abandoned, all dark and ignored and musty. Ritsuka tries not to breathe too deeply without the filter of her hand. It's not that there's a smell -- it's just that it feels like she's breathing in something tangible that's liable to sink into her heart and stab it at intervals.

"That's the door," Nancy whispers, because there's no other way to speak in a place like this. The door itself is practically a shadow -- Ritsuka's eyes move over it at first, until she focuses where she  _ knows _ it was.

"Wait here," says Lancelot, and he moves to the end of the hall, light-footed despite his armour. Armour, Ritsuka has learned, when well-oiled and well-fitted, does not in fact clank; and even footsteps can be muffled by a careful pace. At least he's easy to see -- his white armour stands out in the darkness, unaffected by it at all, and that more than anything says the shadows are a curse, despite the unlit lamps.

He glances back and signals, and the three women move out into the hall toward the door, while Tristan keeps watch on the hall from which they'd just come. Ritsuka gets to the door first, and has the hands free; without even thinking about clearing the room she opens it and steps in. The gunshot makes her jump and yelp, and Kate swears and lowers the gun shakily.

"Good thing I'm quick on the take as well as the draw," she says weakly. Ritsuka feels the brush of Tristan's hand and the tip of an arrow over her head and reaches up with both hands in a clap to catch it before he does something impulsive. And yelps.

" _ Ow!" _

"... Arrowheads are sharp, Master," says Tristan, and he sighs. "Ah, Master's been falling down on her training. That's sad."

"Shut up," Ritsuka mutters, and releases the arrow to inspect her hands. There's a nick on the edge of one of her palms which is going to be a nuisance, but she can manage; and with a grimace Ritsuka moves further into the room to let the others in. Kate sags against the wall, sliding carefully back down to the floor. Ritsuka goes to kneel beside her, and doesn't have to work to muster the grin. "I thought you were  _ dead _ ."

"Well, technically speaking," Kate admits, reloading her gun with the punctuatedly careful movements of someone whose hands keep shaking. Ritsuka can see the tremble, and the ring-shaped mark on her palm which is burn turned to scar. "I got away from the guards once the pretender mustered his forces. I've been here since then; I don't think they can get in. Or maybe they don't know it's here, I don't know. Either way, it's been getting stuffy."

"The hall outside is worse," Nancy says grimly, coming in and looking around. "At least light is still allowed, in here."

"Yeah? Take a look at that." Kate points past them to the table which had been in the room, closer to the opposite end of the altar itself. Ritsuka hears Mash's horrified gasp before she's able to twist to see it; and then she can't help but stare. It's a table, all right -- but before it'd just been a table. She'd eaten cake from that table. Now it's got half-ghostly bindings draping down the side, and something dark and glistening over it which could be either a silken red robe or blood.

"Please tell me that's a robe," she says weakly.

"I don't know," says Kate. "I didn't dare touch it, to be honest. But it sure wasn't there up until the lights started going out."

Tristan moves closer, his bow still strung but at least without an arrow nocked. Not that it makes a difference, if he doesn't want it to.

"When was that?" Lancelot asks, stepping in and closing the door behind with a quiet snick. At once a pattern of light grows across it, all red and throbbing like the veins of a tentacle, and Ritsuka swallows.

Mash steps back. "Senpai ... that's ..."

Ritsuka swallows again. "Yeah. I know. Tamar said this was the room where the ritual of birth was performed."

"And you went white when she did," says Nancy, "just like you both are now."

Lancelot eyes the wall, fingering the grip of his sword. "We are  _ certain _ this is a safe place to rest?"

"Grim," answers Kate, "but safe enough. You're the first people who've been able to open the door. It's as if --" She stops and shakes her head. "Look." She holds out her hands, and in the faint ray of light from the skylight over the table, they look very nearly life-like with the lines of her palm, and the colour of her skin. "If this place pulls in people who are forgotten, I think this is a room where people are  _ known _ ."

"Only those who have lived can suffer," Tristan murmurs, bent over the table with glove off and fingers outstretched. "One may argue that only those who have suffered have lived."

"People can live who haven't suffered," Ritsuka objects immediately, and when Tristan turns his head for a moment the tail of his hair seems to fade into the same darkness over the table.

"Ah? And yet, Master, only those forced to  _ strive _ make good on themselves."

Oh. Ritsuka forces her shoulders down by getting to her feet and patting off her trousers. "Let's just make sure we're defining 'suffering' the same way, that's all I'm saying. Life might be about suffering, but it doesn't have to be  _ needless _ . Even if it frequently is."

She doesn't want to look at the table, she does  _ not  _ want to look at the table -- yep. She looks. The surface gleams like still-liquid blood, and when Ritsuka breathes in she's sure she can smell it. She looks away when Mash takes her hand.

"Senpai, you went green ..." Mash's eyes dart toward the table, but her face is turned resolutely away, and Ritsuka manages a smile.

"I'm good. Okay, now we're here, let's see what Chaldea's been able to read and what Doctor Roman has to say."


	22. His sister's gift

Ritsuka's still feeling kind of nauseous when she gets out the radio and turns it on. There's a whine of static which clears almost at once, like a boosted signal, and Doctor Roman's voice comes through.

"Ritsuka? You're safe?"

"Yeah," Ritsuka says, and even to herself her voice sounds weak. "We made it to the altar-room. It's kind of grim and gloomy, but Kate made it here, so we've got one extra."

Roman's sigh of relief makes the radio static. "She made it? Great. Okay. Here's to the next phase of our plan, then."

"Doctor --" Ritsuka starts, then stops and takes a deep breath. This is impinging on things she both wants to ask about and doesn't. Doesn't, because she doesn't want to hurt him, and in a Singularity like this it'll probably be extra painful for everything. But ...

But she doesn't think she can afford not to ask, anymore. This isn't like with Ana, or keeping Mash's spirits up. There's definitely something about this room.

"Ritsuka?" Doctor Roman's voice is meek, like he knows what's about to come and is really hoping Ritsuka will change her mind or forget about it. Ritsuka turns her head just enough to see the table's glistening surface, and steels herself.

"Doctor, I need to know more about this room. It looks -- really, super creepy right now. Even more than the rest of the palace." Wait. She might have to explain that. "Everywhere else the buildings are -- all dark and sucking up the light, and there's something breathing in the walls. Like the palace is a part of the person who has the grail."

She looks around the room again, at the walls lined with red light, like wards, and the steady lamp flames on the altar. Those patterns ... now she's looking at them, they really do look like Doctor Roman's tattoos. The part that makes them eerie is that their colour and texture looks a damn sight like the tentacles and eyeballs belonging to the demon pillars.

"Kate thinks this is a room where people are known, so the pretend-king can't send someone in here. It's just ..."

"There's blood on the table," Mash says softly. "And patterns on the walls. They look like -- like something Goetia might have worn, when he was pretending to be you."

"You told us to come here." Ritsuka swallows hard through the lump in her throat. It doesn't help all that much. "But right now I'm not seeing how this is the kind of room that's meant to be able to help. And I -- I trust you, if you say something in here  _ will _ , but ... wouldn't it be better if we understood  _ why _ ?"

For a while there's no answer; and then Roman sighs, long and resigned and full of static. "Ritsuka. Look up through the skylight."

Ritsuka looks up, sidling across the floor so she's under it. Aside from the lamps on the altar, it's really about the only thing that casts light, however dim; and it's natural light, from the outside. When she looks up she feels like something's punched her in the lungs, and her exhale is shaky and tearful. Up in the sky, puncturing the clouds like it's something they just can't penetrate, is a band of light.

"Doctor --?" Her voice is watery. She can't stop it. "This is --"

"Ars Almadel Salomonis," says Roman, in the cadence of an incantation. "The time of birth has come, he is the one who masters all -- Ritsuka." Her name is abrupt and grounding, as if he's trying to cut off his own words and the way they flow smoothly, almost without his consent. There's a moment when he says nothing at all -- but Ritsuka can hear him breathing. "The Noble Phantasm Goetia was using to incinerate humanity is the same Noble Phantasm I used to gift it with magic. Just -- in reverse. That's what it means -- that's what it  _ is _ . It's a Noble Phantasm which changes the foundation of reality according to the will of the user."

"The one who masters all," Mash whispers, and when Ritsuka drags her gaze away from the skylight she sees Mash hugging Nursery Rhyme, and with tears on his cheeks.

"I gave it up," Roman says, his voice thick enough that static makes him hard to hear. "That is -- when I used it, I didn't keep the power for myself. I gave it unto humanity. But no single human person can contain that much power, ever; even for an instant. So I created Goetia, a system of checks and balances contained within my mortal body. The 72 -- they're the ones who processed the power, according to my rituals. They provided the foundation of magic in a fashion which would enable ordinary human beings to use it safely. Four thousand years later, after magic had saturated all of human history to become self-sustaining, they tried to take it back. And I knew they would -- somehow. That's why I sent one of my rings forward in time, and created Ars Nova. Just in case."

"And this is where you used those rituals," says Ritsuka numbly, "to give magic to the people." She shakes her head hard. It still feels thick and woolly, mostly because of all the tears that aren't coming out fast enough to avoid clogging her nose. "But -- what does  _ Tamar _ have to do with this? She's the one who brought us here to begin with, and she knew the name of the ritual. And I don't remember seeing her name at all in relation to yours, when I was looking stuff up in Chaldea."

"I couldn't draw the tattoos on myself," says Roman, sounding very small and tired. "Not all of them. Tamar did it for me."

Ritsuka doesn't look at the table so hard that it makes her temples throb. "And all the blood on the table?"

"Not all of my tattoos are visible on my skin, Ritsuka."

The shiver that runs down Ritsuka's spine is so hard and fast that bile rises. Ritsuka almost chokes on it, pressing a hand to her mouth and swallowing, over and over, until it stays in her stomach. "She -- you -- how did you  _ survive _ something like that?!"

"I had demons at my disposal other than the 72. One of them kept me alive, while I incanted and Tamar carved the ritual into my flesh." He laughs, sudden and jarring and tearful. "To be honest, that's not even the most horrifying thing to me?"

"You were  _ awake  _ when she --"

"The punishment for drawing the blood of a king is execution," Roman says, half-dreamily -- only half, because there's still tears in his voice. Even so, it makes Ritsuka stops short, and she sits down right where she's sitting, because she's trembling too hard to stay upright. "I asked, and Tamar said yes, knowing what would be the result. I don't think I even wondered about the morality of it ... it was the Will of God, you see? The Will of God can't be  _ wrong _ ."

Now he just sounds miserable, and Ritsuka really doesn't know what to do with it. Any of it. She focuses on breathing, and gropes in her belt for the handkerchief Georgios always remembers to put in her gear before she goes away to Singularities, and shoves that against her face until she can get a proper hold on herself.

No one seems to want to say anything, and Roman doesn't seem to be able to stand the silence; but he doesn't seem to know how to break it, either. Every now and then Ritsuka hears him take a breath -- and then nothing follows.

Eventually Mash is the one who breaks the silence. "So this is the room where the 72 were bound into service."

"... Yes," says Roman softly.

"And you would have had to name them all, right?"

"That's right."

"And the others who were here?"

"Nathan witnessed," says Roman, "but the only one whose name needed to be in the incantation was Tamar, because she served as my hands."

Mash nods her head, like she doesn't have tears on her cheeks, like she hasn't just been stabbed in the heart the same way Ritsuka feels like she has. "Then no wonder the person behind this Singularity can't get in. Everything about this room is about naming people, and laying a mark in human history. Right?"

"Yes."

"Doctor ..." For a second Mash looks tempted to say something, all heart-broken and sad; and then she firms up her chin. "Tamar's still alive, isn't she?"

"... Yes," says Roman quietly. "As part of recompense for her sacrifice, I promised her that she would be safe from phantasmals or demons, from anything that would cause her spiritual harm. I made sure of it, in the way she was buried; it's not something I was able to do for anyone else. It was because of the role she played in the ritual."

Ritsuka lifts her face from her hankie with a deep breath. "Is that part of the next phase of the plan?"

"Yeah. You said Tamar was holding back the phantasmals in the throne-room. The sheer force of her name and conviction, and the protection she took on, would be more than enough for that. This room is knowingness kept in -- Tamar would be broadcasting it  _ out _ . The kinds of phantasmals here can't get close to that kind of recognition."

"Then we just need to get from here to the throne-room," says Nancy. "Is that about right?"

"I wouldn't recommend  _ anyone _ going walking around these halls," Kate warns. "Out here it's not so bad, gloom notwithstanding -- we're on the outside of the palace's most important workings. I tried going scouting and something almost grabbed me out of the wall."

"That's why you needed to go to that room first," says Romani. "There are some things in there which will grant you safe passage -- and when you get to the throne-room, Tamar will be holding the door."

Ritsuka looks around, her throat still what. "Like  _ what _ ?"

"The menorah," Romani says simply, and Ritsuka's head whips toward it. It's an innocuous thing; she's gotten too used to ritual trappings to have really  _ noticed _ it. "Is it lit?"

"... Yeah," Ritsuka says hoarsely. "Just the middle lamp, though."

"And has it been lit since you got there, Kate?"

"It's been lit every time I've been in the room," Kate answers. "I figured Tamar lit it -- but I don't remember her doing it while I was in here. It's an oil lamp, right? Don't they need to be refilled?"

"Yes," says Roman simply, and that's  _ all _ he says, and for a minute or two they all sit silently in the single steady light of that lamp, and the way the glow of it casts the patterns on the walls in a shade of blue instead of red. The only movement is Lancelot kneeling; and then the only sound is a soft rumbling prayer in some ancient form of French, too low for Ritsuka to hear it translated.

Looking at it, Ritsuka starts to feel a little calmer, a little less congested. She takes some deep breaths and wipes her eyes, and honestly doesn't know if she's crying for Doctor Roman, or Tamar, or herself and Mash. Maybe all of them. It's not exactly easy hearing that a father-figure had executed his own sister after she helped him.

It's not exactly easy hearing him cry about it after admitting he hadn't even known it was wrong.

Clairvoyance  _ sucks _ .

"So we just carry the menorah? That should get us places?"

"The menorah also witnessed the rituals," says Roman. "None of the phantasmals will be able to penetrate the light, and when you get to the throne-room, the person sitting on the throne will at least hear you out. All of this -- it's a desire for recognition. The menorah represents our past; it represents the creation of the world and all the roots of knowledge guided by the centre lamp. No son of David would dare strike down someone who carries that lamp. He would want its vindication -- and the sign of its blessing."

"Especially someone who never had a chance to live, as a result of his father's sins," Mash says softly. She stirs with a breath, and holds Nursery Rhyme out to Ritsuka. "Senpai? Please take this. I'll carry the menorah. It's why I'm here, right? To ask the question?"

Ritsuka swallows the last of her tears and takes a breath, and nods. She gets to her feet, shoving her hankie into a pocket, and takes the tome. For a second she looks blindly down at it. "Doctor? You're sure about this, right? I mean -- the whole Asmodeus thing ..."

"I'm sure," says Roman, and he sounds as confident as he had when commanding them through Goetia's Singularities -- as if he knows, at least this time, where the right path lays. "I can't guarantee what he'll do after Mash asks the question. But you'll be safe up until that point, at the very least; and the question will loosen his hold on the Singularity, and reveal the location of the grail to you."

"Okay." Ritsuka looks around, holding Nursery Rhyme tight to her chest. "Are we all ready?"

"As always, Master," answers Tristan with a bow.

"Ready, Master," Lancelot echoes, getting to his feet.

"I'm coming with," Kate says, stretching her arms overhead and checking her gun in her holster. "I'd like to see how this ends."

"A climax worthy of a story, I hope," agrees Nancy with a quick smile.

"Okay." Ritsuka can't help but smile at them all. Nancy Drew. She's  _ actually _ in a mystery with Nancy Drew. It's things like this that had made the job sound so alluring when she signed up for Chaldea. Even if she'd been halfway convined it was some huge prank on poor strangers, at the time. "Mash?"

"Ready, Senpai," answers Mash with that quiet brimming resolve. She goes to the altar and takes a deep breath. "Should we try to light the rest?"

"There's no oil," Kate tells her. "I've checked."

"Besides, it's the single lamp burning which is important, isn't it?" Nancy asks. "There's a story -- about not having enough oil, and the lamp burning long than it should."

"Yes, there is," says Roman quietly. Carefully Mash reaches forward to pick up the menorah. It's not too big to carry -- but the shape is awkward, and from the look of Mash's, it's heavier than it appears.

"Got it?" Ritsuka asks, just to make sure. Mash nods, getting one hand under the bottom to steady it while cradling the outermost branches in her arms.

"I've got it. I'm ready, Senpai."

"Then let's go. Try to stick inside the light it casts, okay?" Ritsuka glances around until she sees everyone nod. "Tristan, stick with the rear. Lancelot, take lead, but -- can you keep your sword sheathed? I'd like to approach peacefully, if we're doing it this way."

"As you wish, Master." Lancelot's sword rings as he sheathes it, but he keeps his hand on the pommel as he goes to the door and opens it into darkness breached only by the light of the menorah in Mash's arms.


	23. The man on the throne

There's things growling in the darkness, beyond the sphere cast by the single steady lamp from the menorah. Where walls are touched by illumination, shadows flee, until it seems like the only thing that's real is the glow around them. Kate walks next to Mash on one side, murmuring directions. Ritsuka's on the other, wishing they both had hands free so Ritsuka could hold Mash's.

"We'd better approach from the same door we did last time," Nancy says over her shoulder. "It's the one Tamar was closest to."

"Agreed," says Kate immediately. "We're most likely to get entrance that way -- even if nothing can touch us for a while. I  _ am _ wondering if the pretend-king is a lawyer at all."

"A lawyer?" Mash echoes, risking a glance sideways before returning her attention to the menorah in her arms. "I mean, I suppose kings have to understand their own laws ..."

Kate laughs. "I mean it more literally -- I'm wondering if he'll split hairs. If he wouldn't dare attack the person holding the lamp, that doesn't mean he won't attack the rest of us. And, as a son of David, I'm wondering if he'll be able to penetrate the light even if the phantasmals can't."

She waves a hand at the corridor around them as they emerge into one that's wide -- so wide the light of the menorah doesn't even reach from wall to wall, and leaves shadows slinking along the edges. Ritsuka glances up, sees something which is mostly mouth glom itself onto the sphere of light, and then detach and float along its outside edge toward the floor.

"Let's hope we don't find out," Ritsuka says grimly. "I feel like I'm in one of those aquarium tunnels."

"Oh?" Mash looks up and watches the mouth-thing hit the floor and glide across it like some kind of demonic stingray. "Is this what that feels like? I've always wondered."

"Kind-of less creepy and not as dark, and without the feeling like you'd get eaten if the light goes out, but yeah." Ritsuka glances back to make sure Tristan's okay and sees him with an arrow poking just outside the sphere of light. The phantasmals recoil from the arrowhead, hissing and undulating in streamers of shadows until he withdraws it and inspects the blackened tip. "Dude. Are you taunting the phantasmals?"

"Merely collecting information, Master," Tristan answers, unrepentant. He keeps the arrow drawn, but not on his bow; and now it's inside the light Ritsuka can  _ almost _ hear a musical hum, as the blackness peels away and drifts into nothing.

"Yeah? Like what?"

Tristan looks up at the ceiling. It's hard to tell a ceiling is even  _ there _ , except that every now and then a phantasm crawls out of it like a worm out of the earth. "... I understand why King David carries a bell on his crook."

"... Yeah," Ritsuka says after a moment. "It's part of his legend."

"Yes," says Tristan softly. "King Saul. I remember. King David was a musician worth modelling, I always felt."

"... I didn't know that," Lancelot murmurs, but he doesn't glance back. Ritsuka does, and sees Tristan's mouth curve with wry amusement, even still looking toward the ceiling.

"Mm. You have an astounding lack of musical ability for one whose family declares 'tis from the bloodline, my friend."

"Not everyone has the soul of a tragic poet, Tristan."

"Ah, I should have Bedivere read something of his to you one of these days ... perhaps it will wear off."

Despite how they're being cradled by a menorah in an actual pit of shadows and phantasms, Ritsuka finds herself grinning; and when she glances sidelong she sees Mash's smile faint on her lips.

"I didn't know Sir Lancelot's family is descended from David," Ritsuka whispers, trying to be as quiet as possible and still be heard over footsteps. The whispering sulk of the phantasmals helps, but it's hard to say whether it's working or not when both the knights are too polite to indicate whether they can hear, even as they speak.

"It's a rumour," Mash whispers back, "and it's kind of hard to confirm, isn't it? Anyway -- it never really mattered. At least, not to Galahad. Though I think he found the comparison amusing, in a sort of painful way; I don't think he would be surprised if it were true."

Ritsuka thinks of what Da Vinci had said, about some stories claiming the Fisher King's daughter was Galahad's mother, and how Lancelot had been tricked because he'd loved Guinevere just that much, and she really doesn't  _ mean _ to say anything -- it just comes out, because she's thinking about it anyway, and she can see the comparison. "Cos of the whole 'lusting after another woman' thing?"

Ritsuka regrets the words the moment she sees Lancelot's shoulders twitch in concert with Mash's wince, and raises her hands, straightening up. "Never mind. I said nothing. Forget it."

Man, sometimes she's got a great leash on her tongue, and then others she just needs a spade ready to dig a hole.

From there on there's silence as they move, aside from Nancy's murmured instructions up ahead. As they get closer to the throne-room there's beams of rippling light visible through windows and against walls; and the dull sounds of breathing and heartbeat from within the building itself are driven off by a quiet murmur. When Ritsuka listens closely -- she's pretty sure it's Tamar's voice. Or maybe she just hopes it.

... Nope, definitely Tamar's voice. They pass into the hall where the door is located; up ahead there's a solid beam of light emitting around frame, and against the far wall is a golden silhouette of the doors, as if in a reverse shadow. Tamar's voice now is so intent that it seems to vibrate the very shadows clustered around the place: they scatter as Mash approaches, save a few caught between the two lights, and whine writhing until they dissolve into dust. Lancelot steps into the light by the door, and it casts rainbows off his white armour.

"Your orders, Master?" Lancelot asks.

"Lancelot goes in first, sword sheathed," Ritsuka instructs. "Tristan, stay at the back and see if you can keep the door secure. We'll probably need to move into the room so the light won't cover our exit, so keep an eye on anything between us and it and be two steps from ready with an arrow. Kate, stay back with him with your gun ready in case he needs help clearing the way. Nancy, stick with Mash. I might need to break away. If Tamar needs the help, you're the one who'll provide it."

"As you wish, Master."

Tristan is the only one who answers verbally; Nancy turns with a faint air of surprise and a lifted eyebrow, and then falls back to take Kate's place. Ritsuka takes a deep breath, and nods toward Lancelot.

He opens the door and instantly it's a floor of words, half song and half prayer, and all in Ancient Hebrew. Ritsuka can snatch words here and there, but like some other incantations in this place it's otherwise too rooted in its language for her to get a running translation through her Mystic Code.

Lancelot strides in, hand on sword; Ritsuka enters beside Mash behind him, with Nursery Rhyme cradled in the crook of one elbow, ready for its cover to be flung open in a moment's notice. The first thing to see is Tamar with hands held before her as if in prayer, her words a long even stream of entreaty and protection; her hair is lifting faintly, her robes vividly colourful, like it came from the story of Joseph's colourful coat. All around are shadows lingering; and where outside of the throne-room the phantasmals couldn't be seen much as individuals, here it's as if the light is highlighting every single unique claw, tooth and quivering wings.

Some of them seem to pulsating ... nope. Nope, nope, nope, Ritsuka is  _ not _ going to look too hard.

Past Tamar is the throne, with the braziers lit on either side; their light wars with Tamar's. It's as though they're trying to draw the shadows together, and Tamar's keeps dispelling it; wherever her light touches, the throne shows colour and radiance, the way Ritsuka can imagine it did in its proper time and place. At the base of the stairs, seated in an ornate chair, is Uriah; he's clad in some very nice-looking clothes, the sort probably reserved for the royal family, and it would look alarmingly like some kind of betrayal if it weren't for the chains around his chest and arms  _ keeping _ him there.

At least he's moving: he lifts his head, and even without a face, the small jerk of his chin indicates he recognises who they are.

"Tamar," Nancy whispers, her hand outstretched as the light from the menorah folds in with Tamar's, envelops her; and with a soft sigh Tamar lowers her hands and opens her eyes. When she turns, Ritsuka can very nearly see the smile, despite the lack of a face.

"I knew he would send you back. He promised. My holy brother has always kept his promises."

Unexpectedly a lump rises in Ritsuka's throat and her eyes burn; and she doesn't have an answer, but to pat Tamar's arm.

Lancelot steps in front of them all, covering them all, and bows to the throne-room -- respectful but not subordinate. "King of Jerusalem. My name is Lancelot du Luc. I bring my Master and a bearer of a light unto our paths."

_ Now _ , finally, they can see what's on the throne -- sort-of. There's definitely  _ someone _ there, all robed and sitting tall; and from a distance Ritsuka can imagine that it looks like King Solomon, that there might be an illusion there. Maybe that's what Asmodeus had been for, if the unnamed king had been trying to replace his brother outright. But the braziers don't reach quite high enough, and neither does the light from the menorah. The shadows hanging under the wings backing the throne make the person's face hard to see, even assuming there's an illusion of King Solomon there.

Probably that's because he may not have had one?

... No, he had to have. He was born stillborn; that means he  _ had _ a face. Theoretically. He might be manifesting like a phantom spirit.

"Senpai?" Mash whispers sideways. Ritsuka looks sidelong back, and nods. Mash takes a deep breath and moves up a little, and Lancelot steps to the side so as not to be hiding her from view, but still enable all of them to be safe inside the cocoon of the menorah's light.

Mash clears her throat. "King of Jerusalem -- um. We wanted you to know that we aren't here to fight. That is, we don't want to hurt you or your subjects anymore. We just want to understand -- why you're so angry. Why you hurt so much." She pauses and there's no movement from the throne; not even a hand lifted to bid her to continue. In the dullness of the shadows, Ritsuka can see a clenched fist resting on the arm of the throne. "We just wanted to know ... why do you suffer so?"

It feels as if the whole Singularity shivers; as if there's a breath that's been held, all this time, and now it releases as a gusting sigh which agitates phantasmals and turns to the heartbeat in the walls to a thunderous pound fit to crack the walls.

\--  _ Actually  _ cracks the walls. Oh boy.

"... Why do I suffer so?" The voice from the throne is low and cracking, passion held leashed -- about to be let go. The next is a scream. " _ WHY DO I SUFFER SO!?" _

He rises then _ , _ this unnamed king, while fractures in the wall behind shows light through, like sun chasing away a dust-cloud. Now they can see his face, however briefly -- furious and tearful and  _ young _ , with red-lit curls and a smooth jaw just like his father's.

Or his brother's. He could have been Doctor Roman's twin -- Roman as he had been in Chaldea -- save for skin tone.

"How can I  _ not suffer _ when my life, my being, the very reason for my existence is to die to punish  _ somebody else _ ?! "

Ritsuka flinches. She's not the only one; Mash does too, and takes a bracing breath after, settling herself in a stance she uses when she's standing firm with her shield -- but instead, it's a lamp in her arms. 

"It's true, that doesn't sound very fair," Mash agrees. Ritsuka's pretty sure she'll say something else, but the nameless king cuts in with a flat swipe of his hand.

"It's the opposite of  _ fairness _ ! I never had a chance at life -- just a tool to make someone else suffer for their sins! Meanwhile my  _ blessed brother _ is given  _ everything _ !"

"Guess we're going to listen to the raving first," Nancy mutters.

"Let him get it off his chest if that means we don't have to fight him," Ritsuka says back quietly. "He's not wrong, anyway. It's  _ not _ fair."

Her chest is tight. If God were around as a Heroic Spirit, she's pretty sure she'd be giving him a talking-to when they get back to Chaldea too -- but since all she's got is David, he'll have to do. This is a lot his fault, anyway.

"I'm sorry," Mash says, very earnest and very simply. "I'm sorry you've had to suffer through all that. Is that why you made this place? To get a chance ... a chance a life?"

_ He never really had freedom ... maybe he was half-free, at best. _ Ritsuka swallows hard, her heart aching in her chest. It's unfair. It's just -- so -- unfair.

"This was my opportunity," says the nameless king, suddenly quiet. It's the sort of quiet to set off alarm bells in Ritsuka's head, and she's not the only one: Lancelot shifts his heel, very slightly _ , _ to change his balance just so. "This city is mine, these people --  _ mine _ . I will not have them taken from me based on what someone else thinks I do or don't deserve!"

The fierce possessiveness in his tone sure sounds like a king -- a king like Gilgamesh, a king like Ozymandias. When he spreads his arms all the phantasmals in the throne-room shiver, and pull together like they've been touched by a gravity well. Shadows blend together, wrap around the unnamed king's arms, his body --

"Oh, boy," Ritsuka mutters, watching his shadow grow and grow until it collides with the ceiling and wall and spreads out across it. The cracks look like dim-lit scars through the body of the shadow, right before the roof splinters and a long scaly back arches through it. Debris bounces off limbs and scales, and Ritsuka yanks Mash sideways before a piece of roof hits the floor where she was.

"Guess the menorah won't shield against incidental debris!" Kate calls, and looks up. "Ah,  _ fuck _ . -- Sorry. Kids. Forgot."

"I think under the circumstances I can deal!" Ritsuka tells her, steadying Mash and looking up ... and up ... and up. "Ah,  _ fuck _ ."

"Senpai!" Mash's voice is strangled. "Language!"

"Sorry, Mash. I was wondering when we were gonna get a dragon that tops the other dragons." This one has  _ seven heads _ , shaking off debris and glancing at each other and stretching experimentally. All of them have horns, like unicorns -- except one, which has four. And the way the bony ridges gleam over their eyes kind of looks like crowns. "Is it just me, or was there something in the Bible about this?"

"Indeed there is, Master," Lancelot says grimly, drawing his sword and pulling his helm down. "The dragon of Revelation."

"Isn't that the one where the world ends?"

"Ritsuka!" Nancy's voice is sharp and Ritsuka ducks instinctively as something goes whooshing overhead, and looks back to see something spiny and quivering embedded into the back wall.

"Oh, that's fun. Please don't tell me this thing is an  _ Archer _ ." She spares a glare for Lancelot's back. "Why can't one of you, just once, be a  _ Lancer _ ?"

"I think," says Tristan delicately, "the seven heads are each a different class." He points with his nocked arrow toward one of the heads, the one with the horn like the long narrow spike, and draws on his bowstring. "If you wanted a Lancer, Master, there you are."

"One on  _ our _ side, thanks so much for your help!"

"_I am the child cast out of Heaven for the sins of others," _ whispers the dragon, all low and shuddering down their spines and under their feet, and Ritsuka's not the only one who shivers. The dragon's tail lashes like a cat's, its body perched low and possessive over the unlit throne.  _ "I am the forgotten, the rejected; those who never received a chance at life. I am the child who existed only for the sake of others." _

Those words tighten Ritsuka's chest to the pain, and her breath comes raspy and without words.

"Master --" Mash's voice is frightened, and she shifts as if to step back before planting her feet. "Do -- do you think --"

"No way," Ritsuka says immediately. "No  _ way _ is this thing a Beast -- not a real one. A mimicry or an echo of one, maybe."

"How can you be sure?!"

Ritsuka plants her feet too, looking up over the looming heads. Her heart beats fast and her throat's tight and there's tears in her eyes: but she stands her ground. "Because he came into being when Doctor Roman got here."

The child who existed only for the sake of others ...

It's both of them, really, isn't it? She remembers reading it -- the stillborn son, for David's sins, and the one blessed with all the powers of the earth, the symbol of God's forgiveness.

Neither of them really had a life.

Tristan fires his arrow, nocks the one in his hand and fires that too; draws from his waist, faster than the eye can see. One of the heads, the one with fangs long like swords, jerks back with a long keening cry of pain that makes Ritsuka shudder. Then she pulls together and points at Mash, hefting a quivering Nursery Rhyme on her arm.

"Mash! Keep moving, okay? Find a place to take cover -- but don't go too far away from the throne. If he can't get inside the sphere of light we'll want to at least be protected from the debris while giving our combatants some cover."

"Understood, Senpai!"

"Nancy, Tamar, see if there's any way you can get Uriah loose and behind the shield!"

He's still sitting at the base of the throne, shivering and just barely enough in the lee of the dais that the dragon's claws and tail miss him with every sweep.

"Got it," says Nancy briskly, tugging on Tamar's sleeve.

Lancelot's battle-cry is a roll of liquid words as he lunges, aiming for the limbs which don't even remotely fit on the throne's dais: the feet, the tail. There are no wings to target, but that also means the sky isn't an escape. Then again, the dragon is bigger than the throne-room, and none too restrained about breaking down walls; and there's  _ seven _ heads to contend with. Even with the Saber being wary of Tristan, and the Lancer of Lancelot ...

Kate's pistol is a loud thunderclap in the enclosed space, and one of the heads pulls back with a long hiss. She reloads fast, but not as fast as Tristan: his fingers pluck bowstring like a harp between arrows, turning hum to building resonant edge. They both scatter into the protective light as the head jerks with a hacking sound and the spit-ball strikes the floor with an utterly unnerving hiss, like baking soda in vinegar.

"So  _ you're _ the Assassin," Ritsuka mutters, and rushes forward to thrust Nursery Rhyme forward with pages open. Fire is like a streamer, striking the head from the side, and it withdraws with a wail.

"Master!" Lancelot's shout is followed by a sweeping blow from his sword. Ritsuka closes Nursery Rhyme fast and drops and rolls under the long narrow spikes the Archer throws; she's on her feet and with a hop, skip and leap she manages to dodge past the crackling ball of lightning thrown by the Caster. "Stay within the light!"

"If I can -- get back there --"

_ "I will not let you have what so many have taken!"  _

It's a shriek that leaves a ringing in Ritsuka's ears. The dragon kicks at her and Ritsuka dodges, her breath rasping. She sprints toward Mash's protective light and something strikes her in the back so she flings forward, hitting the ground hard and losing her grip on Nursery Rhyme -- but inside the sphere. Safe. 

"What -- was that --" Ritsuka groans as she rolls over, and sees a wild-eyed head glare at her, teeth gouging through stone to snap together and lift with rubble still in its jaws. Welp. That would be the Berserker. Ritsuka looks around wildly. "Who --?"

"Ah -- Sorry I'm late."

David's voice is really perversely cheerful. He ducks in under a sweep of tail, snatching up the crook he'd thrown at Ritsuka's back. The straight end of it's shorn off where it'd gotten caught by the Berserker's teeth, and he touches the splinters and shakes his head ruefully. "All giants are the same, no? Though this one seems to prefer picking us off one at a time."

_ "YOU_._" _ The dragon's voice is like bubbling lava, hissing and scorching at once. Ritsuka can feel it through the soles of her boots, sees Nursery Rhyme's cover start smoking; the tome snaps itself into the air with a panicked flutter of pages, and retreats inside the light. Good. Safe. Ritsuka picks up the tome and whirls to see what Nancy and Tamar are doing. Retreating -- wisely, probably, because Ritsuka is definitely smelling burning flesh and Tamar is definitely limping. Lancelot sweeps her into one arm as he rushes past, faster on foot. Even then, by the time he gets her inside the shield he almost drops her pulling off his helmet. Underneath he's gasping, his face reddened by scorching armour.

"Cool breeze, if you please, Nursery Rhyme ..." Ristuka holds out the tome facing upward, so that ice ejects somewhere the sudden temperature drop won't totally ruin Lancelot's armour, but the backlash will sooth singed skin and feet.

"_You're to blame for all of this!" _ The sweep of the tail overhead scrapes past the sphere of light so hard that this time the smell of burning is definitely the acridity of scales, instead of any of them; but it makes the whole room shudder, even the ground. Mash staggers and heaves up the menorah with a grunt.  _ "O king who betrayed his subjects -- who stole what wasn't his, the lives of wives and fathers and sons!" _

"Ah." David nods. "Yes. You're right. Which means -- there's only one thing left for me to do, isn't there?"

He rushes forward, throwing his shepherd's crook -- throwing it  _ aside _ , not attacking; and as it leaves his hand his form shifts, becomes taller and more finely dressed. At Uriah's feet he casts himself to the floor, touching his forehead to broken tile; in the shifting light, Ritsuka sees kingly raiments and curls made long by easy living, and a shadow of a beard on firm jaw. "Uriah, husband of Bathsheba; I have sinned against you and your wife. I conspired to have you murdered for my sins of lust, and I was  _ wrong _ . I beg your forgiveness -- though I do not expect it."

His words are clear and unhindered, balanced between youthful lightness and royal resolve, and sound like a hammer striking hot chains. A great shudder runs Uriah, through the body of the dragon hovering over them; the flames in the menorah's central lamp surge and roll to either side, lighting each of the remaining lamps. Their protection expands, the circle widening and pushing back the darkness.

There is a great, wrenching wail, and Uriah's chains fall away, and in a gust of tearing wind the shadows are torn from the nameless king, sent eddying through gaps and ruins of the throne-room.


	24. Within the king's sight

In the quivering silence past the roll of released shadow, Ritsuka can hear someone crying. Her ears are ringing too much to tell who it is; she just knows it isn't her, because although her cheeks are itchy with tears, she's managing to breathe through it. It's not until Uriah lifts his head toward the sky and the light shines off his cheeks in the transparent way of rainbows that she realises it's him.

There's running footsteps somewhere behind, where the doors still stand open, but Ritsuka feels too numbed to try and turn.

"I forgive you, my king," says Uriah in a voice thick with tears and with a tell-tale golden light glistening in the air surrounding him, "for the sake of the sons who should have been mine."

He isn't looking at David. He's looking over their heads, toward the door, and just as the golden light takes him with the chime of silver bells, Ritsuka finds the energy to turn toward that open door behind her. Doctor Roman stands there, looking breathless and ruffled and a little shocked over their heads as Uriah fades. He closes his eyes and takes a visibly deep breath, and only then enters the room -- slower than he must have moved to get here so fast.

He's barefoot.

Had Ritsuka known he's barefoot? Has he been barefoot this whole time?

Ritsuka gets to her feet with Nursery Rhyme cradled in her arms; and she means to say something as Doctor Roman passes, but doesn't. The look on his face says not to interfere.

"Doctor," Mash whispers, and even then only draws a sidelong glance; Roman doesn't answer, otherwise, or even pause his step.

At the foot of the throne, David sits up. In the menorah's light, it's hard to say whether he's man or youth, king or shepherd. He looks wordless up at Roman standing over him, and then unexpectedly smiles -- the youth's smile on the man. "I said, once, to someone who asked -- sometimes I wonder whether I lost three sons for my sins, instead of two."

Roman doesn't answer. He just stares wordlessly down, his face a blank mask. Ritsuka doesn't like it. That isn't meant to be Doctor Roman's face, no matter which skin he's wearing.

"What are  _ you _ doing here," says the nameless king on the throne, sounding tired and petulant and, mostly, that painful sort of resignation. Sitting back, in the shadows, he looks like a phantom spirit; but when he stirs to sit forward the menorah's light pushes away the dull greyness, in favour of brown skin and dark hair with red highlights. On his lap, cradled in his hand, Ritsuka can at last see the grail.

"Why do  _ you _ get all of this?" He sweeps his hand to indicate the throne-room, and when Ritsuka follows his gaze, she sees with a start that stone and timber is slowly dragging toward each other, settling against one each other -- repairing itself. "All I wanted was a chance to live. Everyone has a right to a chance to  _ live _ , don't they?"

Roman also glances back, and his gaze goes nowhere else than Mash with the menorah in her arms; and then he turns to the throne. Even though he's the one standing at the base of it, he's the one who seems in control; as if this place is his. As if he belongs here. "You're right," he says softly. "They do."

The sight of his back makes Ritsuka's throat tighten hard, and her gut clench, and without thinking she takes a jerky step forward, because she  _ can't _ watch him sacrifice him again like this, she just --

She can't.

"Master." Lancelot catches her with one arm, tugs her back against his chest; for a moment's frantic panic Ritsuka struggles, and then catches herself and stops with a shuddering breath. Even still, Lancelot keeps his arm around her, and she's not sure if it's to keep her back or give her comfort.

"Do you want it?" Roman asks the unnamed king in what Ritsuka feels is far too calm a voice.

"What?" Even the unnamed king sounds startled.

Doctor Roman holds out his arms, bare of sleeves or anything but the complex tattoos moving from hands to biceps. His hands, upraised, seem to offer everything that he is. "You can have them."

"... What?" Now the unnamed king is unsure, and Ritsuka swallows the lump in her throat while tears spill down her cheeks. 

"You can have them," says Roman patiently, and from this angle Ritsuka can almost --  _ almost _ see his smile. It's the quiet one, the pained one. "The wise king, they called me, you know? But there's someone who's wiser than me. Ever since I heard about them, all I can think about ... is how much better their answer was, when asked what they wanted."

"What are you --"

The grail shines, a quiet sweeping pulse, and Doctor Roman's robes rustle around bare feet, picking up in a non-existent wind. There's lights in it -- like golden dust-motes. Ritsuka shifts forward against Lancelot's arm, but it doesn't give.

"Looking back," Roman says in a thick wistful tone, "most of all, that rare choice I had -- I wish that I had answered -- 'My Lord --  _ I want nothing from you_'." The grail shines again, beating like a heart, faster and faster; and Roman lifts his head and smiles with tears on his cheeks. "So -- if you want everything that He gave me --  _ go ahead and take it _ . I don't want it!"

The light of the grail fills the throne-room like a rushing shadow, and where it's gone Doctor Roman's arms are bare, his skin paler, his hair whipping in under the force of the light; but it's hair of red, not white, and where he stands there is the doctor of Chaldea, not a king of Israel. Light hits the back of the throne-room and walls crumble once again, without being broken: they fall, unsupported, while overhead the clouds split and light shines through.

Not the light of the sun, though.

These are rainbows, splitting the places where only greyness had been; and with them comes a cacophony of sound and movement that pierce Ritsuka's eyes. She flinches and Lancelot pulls her closer to hide her face in his shoulder while covering his own. The unnamed king cries out from the throne, and Ritsuka peeks without thinking -- and squints for the movement of the light.

It's like an ocean of sound turned to physical colours. Where Doctor Roman stands, there's a corona showing where the king had been. Beside him David rises to his feet, only it's not David rising, because it's thin and transparent -- like an after-image, but preceding.  _ Then _ he stands, in fuller colour, and looks at his hands, and looks around; and Ritsuka sees it all before he even does it, like ripples in the colour.

"What --  _ is _ this --?!" The unnamed king looks skyward, with dark hair slowly painting itself white. Ritsuka follows his gaze. Through the cracks in the clouds shines light, and the shape of something that pulsates; and where clouds move slowly she thinks --  _ maybe _ \-- she thinks she can see the shape of a throne. It looks a lot like the one on which the unnamed king sits.

"This is my clairvoyance," says Roman, looking up. "This is the Root of all things, and all that which flows from it." Mash gasps. "This is the past, this is the future ... Do you still want it? I'll understand if you don't. To be honest ..." He laughs a little, self-deprecating, and spreads his hands again; and it's hard to see, in the cascade of colour, whether the drape is royal coat or doctor's uniform. "... for the longest time I didn't even know people don't see the world in shades of colour like this. I didn't know it was just me."

Rituska risks a sideways glance and flinches at the shades of a blackened helmet covering Lancelot's face -- not solid, not enough to actually stop her from seeing under it, but a reflection of something  _ else _ that is true. She looks the other way and Nancy stares fascinated down at her hands, human and life-like, and Ritsuka sees her question before she says it.

"Do I have my face?"

"Yeah," Ritsuka answers, and sees  _ that _ too, and this is -- this is making her head ache.

"Senpai," Mash whispers in stereo, staring upward. "I think -- this is the Singularity coming apart --"

"Do you want it?" Roman asks again, more forcefully this time. Up on the throne, the unnamed king shakes his head -- shakes it for real -- shoves the grail off his lap.

"Take it!"

The grail hits the ground with a tinny ring and lands upright at Doctor Roman's feet, shining. It looks like the most solid thing there is: but even it, too, wavers, like a mirage in the desert. Not the real thing. Not even close.

That's overhead.

_ "Take it and your wish will be granted, _ " whisper the colours all around them. It's a statement of fact, but a statement of fact has never sounded so much like a temptation. "_Take it and wish and you will be restored to your humanity; you can be restored to Chaldea, without the oversight of Revelation." _

In the colours Ritsuka can  _ see _ the shape of Roman stepping forward, bending down to scoop up the grail; can see robes give way to doctor's uniform, long white hair cede to shoulder-length ginger. Like gazing into a mirror reflecting a mirror, she can see all the way down a long line of events that follow, of Chaldea and delight, of Doctor Roman restored as he was, by the wish of the grail -- and the twist of Singularity ever-present, like subtly looming background music. Easy to miss. Easy to ignore.

But, behind him, his shadow stretches and stretches and stretches -- and when Ritsuka's eyes follow it, it leads toward the doors. A softer hum accompanies fragrance, something she'd once smelled, but can't say where ... it's lilies-of-the-valley. That's it. _ "Walk away," _ says that path, more softly but less yielding._"Walk away. Have faith just one last time, o imprisoned king of Israel, and at last your story shall truly be full of blessings." _

For a moment, or possibly a lifetime, the painted colours are balanced between those two things.

Doctor Roman's shoulders shake. He lifts his head, with tears on his cheeks, and then he turns and leaves the grail where it rests. As he comes out of its light, green coat fades to cream and red, ginger hair lengthens to white _ , _ tattoos scribe themselves across his limbs as if they'd always been there to begin with. He holds out his hands to Mash, and wordlessly she passes him the menorah, and steps past him toward the grail, while Doctor Roman sinks to his knees and curls over those steady-burning flames to weep.

Ritsuka wants to go and hug him. She just -- can't seem to move. Too many shadows, too much to see ... she's not even sure where the  _ floor _ is, right now.

The long mirrored-hall of future-sight is replaced by Mash's resolute back, as she carefully picks up the grail; first in sight, and then for real, holding it close to her chest. She looks up at the unnamed king, and the gold dust-motes rising off him.

"I think you'll be okay," she tells him, and even from here Ritsuka can hear the gentle smile. "I mean -- that's what the cycle of reincarnation is about, isn't it? Everyone gets a chance to live -- and another, and another, and another. And now the Singularity isn't keeping you in -- now you really do."

The unnamed king is wearing his face too. "Thanks," he whispers. "I really want to."

He vanishes in a cascade of gold dust, and the floor shakes.

"That would be the sound of the Singularity failing," Tristan says quietly in double-tones. Seriously, this seeing everything twice thing is getting  _ really _ old!

"Well, speaking for myself, I had a lot of fun." Kate grins a roguish grin at Ritsuka, and salutes. "Always nice to meet other detectives, too."

"I wonder if fictional people like me can wind up in that cycle Mash mentioned," Nancy muses, and raises her hand to wave. "Ah, well. Next time someone tries to help you by calling on some detectives, tell them to come for me first, okay?"

"Definitely." Ritsuka pushes the word out through her closed throat, and it comes aggressively. They both dissolve, and Ritsuka staggers out of Lancelot's loose hold, her knees rubbery.

Or maybe that's the ground. There's the definite distant sound of ice cracking, and when she looks, the sky seems to be falling upward, spiraling into the circle that had been the proof of King Solomon's gift.

"Thank you," says Tamar, quietly fierce. Ritsuka looks at her and her heart leaps to her throat. Tamar's kneeling by Doctor Roman with her arm around his shoulders, and the golden light is all around the  _ both _ of them.

"Doctor --" Mash says in alarm. He exhales and lifts his head, and shakes it; light tumbles off it, as if it can't quite catch.

"I killed you."

"You gave me the end I wanted," Tamar says, "after a life made worthless. You, among all others,  _ saw me. _ Father." She lifts her chin to nod at her father and through the light Ritsuka can see her face, her hair. She really does look a lot like David. "Please do better now."

"Ah, I can only promise but to try, and try, and try." David takes her hand and kisses her knuckles, his form restored to the youth which had mattered most to him. "And acknowledge when I stumble, before I fall. If I had but done that to begin with ..."

She dissolves before he can finish his sentence, and the ringing split of the Singularity grows louder.

"Master, we must go," says Lancelot urgently. His sword is sheathed, and when he moves there's a wisp of black armour, like smoke unable to settle. Ritsuka looks away from it -- spots Tristan with a gaping wound in his chest -- looks down to click her radio. Nursery Rhyme is still under her arm, and standing beside her is a shade of a girl waiting back at Chaldea; but those are easier to look at than the knights' tragedies.

"Da Vinci! Chaldea, come in!"

There's only static, and a whine that sounds like something trying to get through a crowd of voices.

"We'll need to get to base-camp," says Mash, voice raised over the sounds of the Singularity collapsing. The grail seems larger than usual in her arms; she has to heave it up and clutch it to her chest. Ritsuka automatically heads toward her, to help. "Doctor, come on!"

Doctor Roman lifts his head, slow and with a painfully empty smile, and shakes it. "There's nowhere for me to go."

"_The hell there isn't!" _ Ritsuka screams, doubling back toward him.

"Still only an honest fool," David sighs, and takes his shoulder to heave him to his feet, and support him. He points to Roman's shadow, still stretching inversely-lit toward the door. "Look. Your path has not ended here. Now come on. For once, my son -- let me carry you. You can put that down, now."

He speaks in calm tones, the sort Ritsuka can imagine him using on his sheep. Its works here, too -- Roman drops the menorah in his hands, and lets Ritsuka insert herself under his shoulder, and between them they urge him toward the door where Tristan waits, beckoning urgently.

Just once Ritsuka glances back. The menorah rests upright on the floor, all seven of its lamps shining brighter and steadier than ever.


	25. He who is claimed by the world

The roar of the Singularity falling apart beats a tune in Romani's head, almost swallowing his ragged breath and pounding heart. He feels dazed, carried along by currents beyond his control; he feels heavy and stumbling in a body that shouldn't be quite so solid. Mash runs ahead to the next corner, pauses only to look back, to make sure they're following; ahead of her, through the crumbling palace, Lancelot and Tristan strike down lingering phantasms sent panicky by impending doom, clearing the way.

Romani's breath rattles in his chest, and he stumbles on nothing in particular -- just on rainbows whispering, eddying around his feet. Ritsuka hauls him up on her shoulder and keeps running, urging him on; but it's the shoulder under his other hand that feels the weirder. Honestly, Romani's not sure this isn't some kind of fever dream ...

"Nearly -- there --"

The gardens are ruins of half-there trees and birds erupting from the foliage, vanishing into rainbow sparks. Romani's heart flips a little at the sight of that, and he hopes they aren't real souls, if that's possible, to feel harmed by the dissolution of the Singularity. He's always liked animals ... they've always been simpler than people.

Ritsuka stumbles and lunges forward to catch her speed and balance. "Don't slow down now!"

"S- sorry ..."

The stairs to the temple are lit gold, still solid but with rainbow light painted across them: the only remotely solid thing still remaining. At its base Benaiah beckons urgently, rainbows giving him face and form even as gold light starts to rise from his limbs. Tristan pelts past, Lancelot comes to the step and stops, turning; Mash rushes past him and takes the steps with the grail in her arms.

"My king," is on Benaiah's lips as he kneels and kisses his hand, touches it to his forehead; and then he's gone as Romani is tugged past, lost in the swirl of light from the rest. Before Romani even knows it they're ten steps up and climbing, with Lancelot behind -- sheathing his sword now there seems no more enemies left.

"Gotta -- work on -- running up stairs --" Ritsuka gasps, and even as she speaks her toe catches and she topples forward. Without thinking Romani catches her with his arm around her back, and pulls her bodily up until she gets her feet under her.

"Ah, stairs are fun to run up," says David on Romani's other side, lighter on his feet without the robes Romani's wearing, and pulling away slightly.

"I never did," Romani manages, and adds breathlessly: "Undignified."

David laughs and pulls away some more, turns with a hop and a skip and a blazing grin. "You'll learn!" He whirls again, somehow without tripping, and races up the steps to pause at the height of them beside Mash catching her breath. "Ah ..."

Romani and Ritsuka reach him and Ritsuka hauls in deep breaths. Romani keeps his hand on her back to steady her, breathing hard himself but with the benefit of obnoxiously complex magical circuits to compensate; he has enough time to glance back, to see what David's seeing.

It's a black hole, with rainbows: the Singularity coming apart at the seams and its edges visible where light bends back and the thicker currents of the Root mark the edge. The sky is widening, the bands of light which have been visible in Romani's sight ever since he began preparing for that ritual now forming the boundary between a coherent Singularity and the space-time concurrent with the rest of the world.

"Is this how it always was for you?" Mash asks, wondering and afraid; but Romani's too breathless to answer, and the base of the stairs is starting to dissolve. A shout from the temple pulls him away as Lancelot reaches the height; they all turn to where the courtyards are starting to lift with golden dust-motes. The airplanes are even now vanishing, along with their pilots; the refugees dissolve, blending with the moving light of souls rejoining the cycle of reincarnation. David takes off toward the temple.

The foundation of the temple is glowing, and Zadok stands by Tristan at the light-framed doorway. Ritsuka takes Romani's hand with the one not holding Nursery Rhyme and takes off toward the doors, yanking him along -- as if he'd try to stay behind at this point!

... He might have.

Just ...

The rose on his wrist is tugging fitfully toward the temple, along with the braid over his shoulder, and it would take almost as much effort to stay as to run.

It would take much, much more, to try and pull back against Ritsuka's hand, and then against Mash's as she finds a comfortable way to cradle the grail and take his be-rosed hand at once. With the two of them pulling, there's no way to stop; and his shadow shines long and narrow and straight toward the doors of the temple, where gathered are the priests of his court, and Zadok bending knee.

"My king," is a whisper of a refrain as they pass. Despite himself Romani  _ does _ slow, does turn toward Zadok with mouth half-open --

"Don't stop!" Lancelot shouts from behind, and Ritsuka yanks him onward, so he can't say anything as Zadok goes -- as if he knows what to say to begin with. Romani really can't tell if the ache in his chest is for being unable to say anything, or the sensation of reality asserting itself over the temple's construction.

Inside the rainbows are less, but the walls vibrate with strains of song and voices; everything from ones he's written to ones imagined, from the past to the very distant future. The temple's insides are solid enough, still, with Hopper and Hedy working feverishly on the base camp even as gold dust rises finely from their backs and limbs. On the Chaldean side, static crackles, Da Vinci's voice a broken thing; but Romani hears --

"Alright, testing on Tristan first. Ready for leyshift!"

Tristan turns and nods toward the rest of them, a cascade of gold dust on his shoulders. "I'll go ahead to test the connection, shall I?"

None of them are able to respond before he dissolves -- gold mixed with a flash of blue, like he's been jerked out of existence rather than simply blended with it. Ritsuka lets out a strangled noise and releases Romani's hand to hurry off toward the base camp and make sure he got home safely.

Nathan comes toward them, staff in hand and face alight, and visible, for once -- Romani doesn't remember if he's ever  _ looked _ at him before. He tries to say something but his throat is tight; and all Nathan does is bend his head and kiss his hands. "My king -- forever more. Go now; allow me to hold the doors."

Romani opens his mouth again, but nothing comes out; and Nathan brushes past toward the door, walking with purpose. When Romani glances back, he sees the swirl of rainbows past the entrance, and light rising where ground trembles; but where Nathan stands on the threshold to pray, walls solidify, and hold, even as Nathan himself is bathed in light.

"Doctor," whispers Mash, squeezing his fingers. Romani looks down at her without a word in his throat, and she looks wordlessly up at him, and nods once, and tugs his hand. "Come on."

... His legs feel wobbly. Romani tries to tell her that, but nothing comes out; there's too many tears in his throat, and on his cheeks. There's nothing he can do but follow to where Mash guides him, to --

Mother stands at the front of the temple, alone now, and gilt in light. David rises from kneeling before her and turns, his eyes bright with tears that do not fall; but Romani missed whatever they might have said, and he goes to the circle of the base camp to step in, where Lancelot waits. Mother holds out her hands for his; Mash gives her one, and she takes the other, and then Mash is moving toward the base-camp and Romani ...

Romani still can't find words as he gazes on his mother's face, and her smile.

"Put it down," she tells him gently, brushing hair off his face. "All of this, and the temple -- you're still trying to keep it together, are you not?"

\-- Is he? He hadn't noticed. It's hard to tell, with the sound of reality reverberating against his soul.

... Oh, that's probably what that is ...

"Let it go, Solomon." She kisses his cheek and nudges him toward the base camp. It's empty now, Hopper and Hedy gone; only Ritsuka and Mash remain, waiting with hands outstretched: Ritsuka impatient, anxiously beckoning, and Mash steady and with a smile.

Romani feels the waft and perfume of his mother dissolving against his back, and it's like a gentle nudge to get him walking. The temple's interior shines gold, starts bleeding rainbows; now Romani can feel it, where the cosmos leans against the fabric of his Territory, where he unthinkingly props it up.

His shadow is white against the dissolving floor, an open path to the girls.

" _ Dad, please _ !" Mash's cry makes him break into a run before he's aware it's even tugged on his heart. He trips on the line of the base camp, reaching into the flash of rushing blue light in the same moment he lets his temple collapse.

The Singularity folds with a sigh. Romani opens his eyes to the ribbon of the galaxy and human history stretching out on either side of him, and no ground under his feet nor sky above; just the waft of hair and robes in weightlessness. When he looks down there's only the shapeless ruins of Ars Paulina, debris floating free from a place there is no longer any gravity.

A whisper of movement brings up his chin with a jerk. He sees first rainbows, quieter than their usual wont; the tendrils of reality's fabric, reaching. The figure before him rests in the petals that is reality folded around it. Or possibly those are the wings. Even at his most powerful, Romani has never quite been able to tell.

"Ah, it's you again," he says, resigned, and Azrael's faces spin slowly like a wheel, as if to give each one a better look at him turn by turn. It seems creepier now than it did when he died the first time, as a king. He hadn't quite got a clear glimpse on the occasions they met before then. There's a stunning lack of clairvoyance here -- though he can hear it whispering when he's not looking.

"You know, for a moment there ..."

_ "Dost thou give up on hope so quickly, son of David?" _

Yep. Still the same rumbly-piping voice, four different tones sounding at once like a quartet. That voice doesn't come from a throat; it comes from immediate space all around him.

Romani brushes his shoulder absently, where something tickles and tugs. "Well ... it's not as though I had much to begin with, you know?"

Wings peel open and too late Romani recognises the shape of a sword. It cuts toward him and despite his words he flinches; but it smooths through him like sliding water as though his form is nothing. Or maybe the sword's form is nothing. He isn't sure.

The sword vanishes as quickly as it appeared, folded carefully away under those thousands of wings. " _ Thou cannot be touched by my hand, king of Israel." _

Romani presses a hand to his chest, frowning; his hand itches, but he's pretty sure that's nothing Azrael did. "What ...? That isn't right. Everything dies. Some things more times than others."

"_Thou hast touched the fabric of existence, father of magecraft," _ rumbles Azrael's deepest voice, alone; and its words are picked up by the lightest, like a child's clearest tones.  _ "As death is, now too is magic: a foundation of the universe. This is the gift of thy existence, given to humanity." _

Romani sighs. "You know, it was a lot easier to read your subtext when I was clairvoyant."

Why  _ isn't _ he clairvoyant, right now? He's most definitely in the middle of the cosmos; he should be hearing nothing  _ but _ the Root. He glances down at Ars Paulina, wiggles his toes at it past the hem of his robes; but the ruins are silent, and the only movement is a flash of light, like a ring winking at him from where they lay.

_ "Thou hast cast thyself from the Throne." _

Romani nods absently, without looking up. "Yes."

_ "And thou hast performed a heroic act." _

"It's not heroic if it was something only I could do to begin with," Romani says, still not looking up. "Goodness knows enough Heroic Spirits told me I'm a coward often enough." He squints a little more. He can almost see the seat in the ruins ...

A tendril of a wing folds through space to lift his chin, and Romani looks deep into all the eyes of Azrael's body, suddenly open. It's ... it's hard to tell where to look, really.

_ "A heroic act such as thou hast done," _ says the heads in turn,  _ "can only result in attendance to the Throne. But: thou hast cast thyself out of the Throne. Dost thou comprehend, doctor of Chaldea?" _

... Oh.

_ Oh. _

Romani's face feels tight as he smiles, and his laugh is a bit scattered. "So because I can't die, I'm fated to be stuck here minding existence with you for the rest of eternity?" His hand throbs. He rubs it. "I suppose we'd make a decent choir, but I'd really ... really prefer to get that life I keep having stolen away from me. Are there any other options?"

"Just one," whispers a single solitary voice from the air directly behind his ear. Something yanks hard on the braid floating over his shoulder, so hard he yelps for the sting of it; and that same thing wrenches on his hand, so he's dragged back into a swirl of blue-black light. The last thing he sees is Azrael folding itself back out of existence, and then the swirl gets a little much so Romani slams his eyes shut.

His back hits something solid -- or maybe it was always there and it just feels like he got flung into it. His lungs demand air and he gasps for it with a breath that's heaving and painful, and his eyes snap open. For a moment he can't tell where he is, except  _ enclosed _ and stuffy, with not enough air and far too much fluff getting tangled with his limbs.

"_Existence confirmed _ !" is a muffled scream from past the confines of where he lays, and Romani coughs and drags in another breath, feeling as if he's been holding it for months. "_EXISTENCE CONFIRMED _ we've got him! We've  _ got _ him!"

There's a tumult happening outside, dull and surreal, but audible from where he lays.

"Open the coffin already!"

That is ... that is definitely Ritsuka shrieking.

"I've got it!"

And that is Mash, sounding jubilant. What ... what's she sounding jubilant about? What's going on?

The top of the casket hums and recedes in a rush of too-cold air. Romani flinches as it hits his face, but at least it's less stuffy now, and his breathing is evening out. He blinks uncomprehending up at the ceiling, and then very suddenly can't, owing to the two heads leaning over him.

"Hi, Doctor Roman!" Ritsuka's grin practically splits her face. "Fancy meeting you here!"

What?

Mash reaches down to take his hand, beaming. "Come on, Doctor. Let me help you up."

...  _ What? _

They both take his hands and pull him upright, and the world turns around him dizzily -- far too solid, and with hardly a whisper of rainbow clairvoyance. It takes far too long for him to realise that the thunder isn't just his heart, but people clapping; that the command-room staff are all around with face-splitting grins and, in no few instances, outright sobs. Romani stares blankly.

It doesn't seem real.

It -- it can't be real.

Can it?

"Come  _ on _ , get up a little, will you?" Ritsuka huffs and reaches into the coffin to try and lift his legs for him. "We can't keep the coffin open all day, y'know!"

It's enough prompt that Romani dazedly obeys, pulling his legs up and swinging them around, and clumsily navigating the side of the coffin to the ground. Mash's hand is right under his elbow, Ritsuka comes around to help --

Romani yelps and freezes, reaching automatically for where hair is pulling painfully on his scalp. "Ow ..."

O-  _ ow _ . That really  _ hurts_.

"What? What's wrong?!" Mash asks, suddenly alarmed, and then sees how he's tilting and the way his hair is pulling. "Oh ..."

Ritsuka peers over the coffin. "I think you've got hair stuck in the lid's hinge," she announces with obnoxious glee to the room at large. "Anyone got scissors?"

"That's the price of beautiful hair," says Da Vinchi cheerfully, coming around the coffins from the consoles with a pair of small nail scissors in hand. Her smile is obnoxiously beaming as she bends over the coffin and, very carefully, snips. The tug eases and Romani straightens up; Da Vinci puts down the scissors on the top of the coffin and holds out her arms. "Well, Romani? Don't I get a hug?"

Wordlessly Romani stares at her, and her impish smile and the crinkle around her eyes.

Definitely the thunder is his heart, now, and it segues with the sting in his scalp that is definitely the result of his hair being sharply tugged. Those kinds of pains can't be faked, or dreamed.

It's real.

It's really real.

He doesn't quite remember the choice to push himself to his feet and fling himself into Da Vinci's embrace, but that's where he ends up, with tears on his face and choking words in his mouth. "Leonardo --"

"Ah," she murmurs in his hair, and strokes it down with one gloved hand. "There there, Romani. It's okay. You're okay. Welcome home."

_ Home_ .

Over her shoulder, past the blurriness of tears, Romani sees command-room staff celebrating with high-fives, hugs, and in at least one case sobbing unashamedly on a colleague's shoulder. He sees Tristan stretching his arms, and Bedivere helping Lancelot with his singed armour, and Nursery Rhyme-as-Alice getting up and stretching with a yawn. The doors hiss quietly open, and when David glances back it's with a faint smile before he exits, humming, to go only-he-knows-where.  


In a corner, where shadows cross with light, there's a reverse-silhouette in pinkish tones which, for just a second, looks to be made of long hair and white robes; and then it's gone, and something nudges Romani's palm. When he looks down at his hand it's filled with a red-on-red rose, all full of life. Romani exhales and closes his wet eyes, and rests his face against Da Vinci's shoulder, listening without responding to Ritsuka chattering behind him, about his hair and its new ginger highlights and how  _ long _ it is and how he'd better be planning on letting them do things with it --

All around him, the familiar chatter and hum of digital hardware, and sterile scents from the environmental system. 

His face aches with the force of tears and smile at once; he laughs with it, open and tearful and buried into Da Vinci's shoulder, hugging her tighter until she oofs theatrically with the force of it.

_ Home. _

_ I'm home. _


	26. His son's father

The sounds from the command-room fade as the doors close on them, and David does not look back. He has not, even now, considered himself an overly frivolous person -- but nevertheless there is a bounce in his step that had not been there before, and a hum in his throat he can't bring himself to soften.

He had not lied to Merlin. He cannot love a son he had never really known. And yet --

And yet, there are sins he's committed for which he has now been able to apologise to those against whom he had sinned; and he has seen the prison in which one of them had lived. Three sons lost, because he had lost his way.

It did not have to be that way. And won't be, now. This is something to which David is becoming accustomed -- the idea that, even now, circumstances can be made to  _ change _ ...

_ "I have but one question, if you'll allow it ... Did you always know?" _

_ "Yes. I have always known." _

_ "... Ah. Then I am sorry for that, as well." _

... even when those situations had been made thousands of years ago.

David moves through the halls with single-minded purpose, and even as he moves, the whispers go before him. Servants come out of their nooks and crannies, their dorms and study-rooms and laboratories. David ignores them all, every instance of  _ "Did you hear the doctor's back?" _ and  _ "What has the King of Mages done now ..." _

As David turns a corner toward the doctor's old quarters, he almost runs into the King of Heroes, looming and regal and looking down his nose. David looks back calmly, with a small nod, and Gilgamesh grunts and makes space, and keeps moving the way he was going as if there'd been no reason to pause to begin with. Ah, Gilgamesh has not always been good at words when they matter ...

He's akin to David that way.

The doctor's old room is not far after that. David enters without the need for a pass; it has been an open room for most, ever since ...

Well. It still has all of the doctor's things. Master and Mash had made sure of that. But -- it's been a little while since anyone's entered to clean. There's a fine layer of dust on surfaces, and the bed has not been made in quite a while; everything has the air of a room its owner does not intend to revisit in a long, long time. For a moment David remains at the door, assessing what ought to be done first: and then he nods and exits, making for one of the cleaners' cupboards distributed at even intervals throughout the halls.

What a thing, for a king to be a cleaner -- but, it's not much different work to caring for sheep, really. And there is something to be said, for kings to be the servants of the people, no matter what Gilgamesh or Ramesses think; though to be fair, David's line does lean toward that interpretation more than most.

In short order he has a wheeled bucket filled and a mop in hand like it's his staff, and a few other odds and ends, and returns to the room with the bucket nudged ahead of him like a particularly stubborn lamb. Waiting for him at the door is the small creature Mash calls a pet, tail curled around its feet. They spend a moment looking at each other before David finally keys the door open. Fou trots in as though there had been a conversation about this, and hops onto the desk-chair to curl its tail around its body and watch David set the room to rights.

David has not cleaned before; but he's lived in worse places than this, and there's a certain degree of common sense involved. He wipes off surfaces, mops the floors, ensures the bathroom is stocked, the bed is made -- checks the kotatsu is plugged in. 

After a belated moment's surveying he fetches a glass to put water in, for the rose that had been in Romani's hand. Merlin, David thinks, has not been entirely truthful the whole time he's been here: but he wonders whether Merlin thinks he's tricked anyone but himself.

There. That should be enough for anyone to be going on with. Certainly Fou seems to approve: it hops down from the chair to claw its way onto the bed, circling and circling where David has turned it down; then it jumps down to curl up on the edge of blanket evenly laid on the floor from under the kotatsu. David drags the desk-chair into the corner to sit and spin his shepherd's crook out of air and into his lyre, and smooths his hand ruefully where splinters jut from the corner. It'll be fine, if he wraps it. Somehow, he doesn't think that particular injury will be going away.

And then he waits.

And waits.

And waits, fingers smoothing over the lyre's strings. They'll be taking the doctor to the infirmary first, surely; to ensure nothing went wrong in the leyshift, to account for all his physical functions and what may have changed between then and now. For one thing, he surely has magic returned.

David hopes there are fewer rainbows in his sight now. A touch of God's hand was all that David had ever had to contend with ... he'd never quite understood.

Eventually the door slides open and Mash comes in fast, looking around. David remains silent but for the hum in strings under hand, and her gaze overlooks him, but crinkles to see the room has been cleaned and readied; and it passes over the room again, more slowly, pausing on his corner. Surely she doesn't see him -- but perhaps that isn't necessary. Her face relaxes and she turns to exit the room, and he hears her voice --

"It's all good, Senpai!"

\-- and then in they come, the three of them, with the doctor's arm over Master's shoulders and Mash taking his hand to lead from the front. David's fingers keep the hum alive on the lyre, and studies them in the safety of invisibility. Sometime during the visit to the infirmary someone had given the doctor different clothes; and though David wouldn't say so, that's something of a relief. The robes and trappings of the king had been -- alarming, if only for who they'd had to fight. And ... they don't suit the man, anymore. They had represented a token of reverence, more than they had a person.

These are merely scrubs, with hair still stuck in the collar though the bulk of it is carried under the doctor's arm; but even with hair and skin and inked magical circuits, the scrubs look better on a man whose face shows emotion.

"Home sweet home~" Master sings out with a sweep of her hand, and turns at once to the doctor, pointing at the creature yawning on the kotatsu blanket. "See? Even Fou’s here." Her grin has not dimmed, but there is anxiety hovering beneath it: the fear that if she leaves, her subject will vanish, like the dream he no longer is. "Will you be okay?"

"I'll fine," the doctor promises, and though his smile seems real, David is familiar enough with covering to know it's strained.

"We can come by in the morning --"

"No, Senpai, Nightingale and Da Vinci said to let him sleep, remember?"

"Oh, yeah ..."

Master wilts and Mash takes her hand, and tugs firm but insistent. "We're just an intercom call away if you need us, Doctor."

"Thank you, Mash." Ah, that one is more sincere. Ironic, that being alone is now what the doctor desires, after all this time. He watches them leave, Master more reluctant and Mash more understanding; and when the doors is closed his shoulders slump and he droops, and opens his hand to look down at the rose in it with a detached sort of wondering curiosity.

Merlin won't have explained that either before he fled, most likely.

The doctor glances around and spots the glass David had left, and drops the rose in it; and then he spends some time simply moving around the room and  _ touching _ , as if he can't quite believe, even after all this, that these things might be real. David turns his eyes away when he sees the tears start to fall. He isn't the witness Merlin claims to be, and he doesn't need to look, to fill the air with a kind of unnoticeable peace.

He opens his eyes again when he hears the rustle of the doctor rising. Now he stands before the mirror; now he smooths a hand up his arm; now he touches his face, his brow furrowed and mouth turned down. From behind, David can see where the light lifts ginger highlights in what had once been snow-white, the remnants of the life the doctor had chosen still, at least, present.

Still ...

It can't be easy, returned to this.

Perhaps that's why; it isn't as though the doctor had been one or the other, nor could escape either.

The doctor reaches behind him, pulls up his hair like he's putting it in a tail; and if David shifts just  _ slightly _ he can see in the mirror past the doctor's shoulder, what he looks like. That's more like it: that's the doctor's face, smooth of cheek and chin, made youthful and vibrant for hair drawn back. With the bulk of it hidden behind him, he looks like he did again, the second time, save for the palette-swap in hair and skin. Even his eyes look green, at least in this light; David seems to remember them being more golden, in the command-room ...

His hands have stilled on the lyre's reverberating cords. David realises too late, as the doctor stiffens and whirls with a breath, dropping hair and everything to face someone he hadn't known was in the room. It'd be guilty, if he had anything to feel guilty about.

... Maybe David  _ should _ have announced himself ...

Ah, well. Too late now.

They stare at each other unspeaking, and David can't quite tell the emotions that flash across the doctor's face so quickly. Ah, he's really gotten bad at this ... he tries to move forward matter-of-factly, and yet, sometimes feelings throw boulders in his way. 

_ "How can I have loved a son I didn't know?" _

Perhaps now he has that chance.

Perhaps now they  _ both _ do.

He doesn't have words to say, to explain the lump in his throat, or know how to form them. Instead he clears his throat, and moves fingers across strings, and begins again the song he'd let lapse. "Go to sleep," he says softly -- a suggestion, not an order. "You must be tired. It's time to rest, Solo -- Romani."

Romani draws in another breath, and swallows visibly; and perhaps he's as bad at words as David is, currently, because in the end he only nods and turns toward the bed David had already turned down for him.

"Tov," David murmurs, "leil menucha v'chalom. Kvar m'uchar."

_ Well, restful and dreamy night. It's late. _

Romani lays down his head, and David pretends he cannot see how the tears wet the pillow. Fou stretches and hops up on the bed once more with a quiet mew, kneading blankets and circling.

"U'machar nakum v'nireh."

_ And tomorrow we'll wake up and see ... _

Fou settles down somewhere on the pillow against the back of Romani’s head. Romani's body relaxes, despite the tears, and his eyes close; and the exhale seems like one of release.

"Eich sh'magiyah hayom b'sof kol laylah."

_ ... how the day comes after every night. _

"Laylah tov."

_ Good night. _


End file.
